She Walked In The Front Door...

This actually isn't my story to belongs to Mindy.

Mindy was a bright young thing who wanted a career in the media. She was studying journalism at the local college and was working her way into any media outlet that she could...newspaper, radio, local TV, cable...whatever opening she could find.

She had arranged an internship with the local radio station, which is how I came to know her. She was coordinating the publicity for a miniature golf course outing for the station that would help raise some funds for the local MRDD sheltered workshop young people. As a result, we sat around and talked quite a bit on the actual day of the event, as others played through their 18 holes of miniature golf. It was going well.

Mindy piped up that she was still looking for a paying job locally to start working in the media, and that she had recently gone to work for the local newspaper, The Telegraph, trying to increase their subscriber base by doing door-to-door sign-up sales.

She said in this college town, you never knew just what you were going to run into when you knocked on the door.

"What do you mean," I gently probed expecting her to tell a story about a pot party or a kegger gone wild.

"Oh, sometimes you see the unexpected," she replied cagily.

Now I knew there was something more here, and that she was trying not to cross a line and offend, but that she really wanted to share. So I obliged her and gave her the permission to be completely frank. "OK, Spill it...."

"Well, last weekend I was going door to door in that neighborhood up on Columbia Street... you know, where it transitions from student ghetto to median income families...except on this street, there's a jump from student rentals right to the nicer homes, and I was hoping to score some more Subscriptions to the paper right there."

Students are notorious for not being interested in the paper, and it's the older, more comfortable homes of retirees that are a sure bet, as they aren't as dependent on radio news or the Internet for their local news. It was a smart way to target her efforts.

"So, I came along walking and knocking on doors Saturday afternoon, and finding that most of them aren't home, but the few that do answer turn out to be students, and not interested. But then I came to the green house with the screen door," she paused, as if I might know the one that she's talking about.

"I walked up to the door and could hear some music playing in the front room, just inside the door. The doorway was open except for the screen door which was keeping the flies out, but I just had the sense that there was someone there, in the front room and that they'd respond to my knock. So I did."

"Did what?" I asked, now hooked on the story.

"I knocked on the screen door, and when I realized that someone was in fact laying on the couch, I went into my shpeil, 'Hello, would you be interested in a reduced subscription to the Telegraph? We have a special promotion going on that you'll be sure to'...." Her voice faded away, and I turned to look at her face, expecting her to be lost in thought. Instead, she had done it for effect, and she knew she had my attention.

"That's when I realized what they were doing," she admitted.

"Who was doing what?" I asked, though my mind was racing ahead painting the mental image for me.

"They were having sex on the couch," she said bluntly.

"What? Who were?"

"Two college kids were screwing on the couch in the living room, with only the screen door between them and the outside world," she explained. It was half an explanation, half a condemnation for their action.

"Well, why not?" I kidded her, "they didn't know you were coming up the street door-to-door."

"But I could have been ANYONE," she stressed, "from the postman to the cops, or even their parents or roommates."

"You don't know that," I started to defend them. "Then what did you do?"

"What could I do?" Mindy admitted, " I kept on going with my shpeil. I had already interrupted them. I had nothing to loose."

"So, how do you know that they were screwing?" I asked boldly.

"I think I know what it looks like when two people are naked on the couch intertwined," she said with exasperation. My mind raced creating the image of a young couple deeply involved in intercourse, and Mindy standing at the screen door watching this action. I wanted to ask what position they were in, but I couldn't think of any tactful way to ask without seeming too overly interested and a pervert.

"So, did they stop," I asked?

"Well, they paused, at least long enough for me to finish my pitch. Then they said they weren't really interested as they were kind of busy at the moment," she explained. "So I said I'd leave a flier under the door, but I couldn't get it to slip through, and the longer I stood there, the more awkward it was becoming... as they were both half turned, looking at me, obviously waiting for me to leave."

"So did you," I asked?

"Well, yes, but I admit I lingered on the front steps, cause I could hear them start to laugh, and then they stopped talking again."

"Well, that's understandable," I suggested, "considering their mouths might have been full at the moment." She didn't take the bait, as she concluded her story.

"Oh, I don't know," she explained, "I realized from the front steps that I could hear the couch squeaking and someone was groaning. I wanted to stay, but I was representing the Telegraph, and so I didn't."

"You should have taken a photo for the paper," I kidded, "that way they knew that you were trying hard to make a sale!"

"Oh, they know I'm doing it," (WHAT my brain screamed?) "cause I've got the best record of all their salesmen right now."

"I should say so," I agreed.

"You just don't know what you're going to find until you get out there and look," she admitted.
studfinder studfinder
56-60, M
Aug 13, 2012