NO SOLICITING

  

By Kelvin Wade

            He started with thick sourdough bread with plenty of nooks to hold the sweet hot mustard he lathered on. Next came mounds of deli-sliced ham, oven roasted turkey and sharp cheddar, Swiss and Provolone cheeses lovingly laid upon each other like a master bricklayer plying his craft. He laid three pieces of hickory smoked bacon atop the cheese and covered it with green leaf lettuce, two scarlet slices of beefsteak tomato and ringlets of red onion. Sprinkles of kosher salt, fresh ground pepper and a splash of vinegar came next. Then he spread mayo on the top piece of bread before gently setting it atop his culinary creation. He slowly and solemnly moved the whole 5" high sandwich to a plate like a rocket moving from the assembly building to the launchpad. He laid a crisp glistening green Vlasic pickle next to it.

He carried the plate in one hand, two bottles of ice cold Miller Genuine Draft in the other and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in his teeth. He walked into the living room and set his food down on a side table next to an overstuffed recliner. On a tray on the other side of the chair sat a bowl of popcorn, small plate of buffalo wings, pretzels and a remote control. He plopped down, reclined and turned on the 55" LED TV on the wall.

The sports pundits onscreen sat behind a long desk talking about the individual match ups, game plans and who was favored. 

He tore open the bag of chips and ate a handful. Then he popped the top on one of his brews and drank some, the cold sparkling beer chasing the salty chips down. He reclined his seat further during the kickoff and reached for his massive sandwich.

That's when the doorbell rang. 

He cursed and stood, walking backwards, not taking his eyes off the TV screen. He opened the door to a teenaged boy holding a stack of newspapers.

"Hi, sir. Do you currently subscribe to the Daily Beacon?" the kid asked.

"What? No...no...I don't want the paper," he said, annoyed.

"If you act now, it's 70% off the newsstand price. Plus, we give you a complimentary-"

"No. No, kid, I don't want the paper!" he said and closed the door.

He sat back down in the recliner and picked up the sandwich. He took a bite and chased it with chips. Then he cursed when his team fumbled on the next play. He sipped some beer and his cell phone rang with Sir Mix-a-Lot's 'I Like Big Butts' ringtone. He knew it was his wife.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"What kind of way is that to answer the phone, Gordon?"

"Babe, the game is on."

"I'm at Linens and Things. Do you think maroon curtains for the living room slider would be better than crimson?"

"I don't know. Just get what you like. STOP HIM!" he said, his eyes fastened to the TV.

"Stop who?"

"Peterson. He's running all over us. We need some D," he said, pointing at the screen.

"Are you more interested in a game than our living room remodel?"

He didn't dare answer that honestly.

"Honey, I just trust your tastes. I'm sure you'll pick out the best stuff for our remodel."

"Uh huh," she said, scornfully. "Okay, I'll let you get back to your game."

He hung up and finished a bottle of beer. He cracked the top on the second beer when his team intercepted the ball and returned it for a touchdown. He leapt from his seat screaming and dancing and thrusting both fists in the air. He sat back down, bit his sandwich and stuffed some Doritos in his mouth. 

"Now this is a friggin' game!" he bellowed to no one in particular. 

His cell phone rang and he glanced at the screen. Blocked number. It was probably one of his buddies calling to celebrate the pick six. His pal Eddie had to work and was probably listening to the game on the radio and was calling from a blocked work number. He answered.

A feminine robot voice said, “Hello, it's your lucky day! This is Victory Vacations International and you've won an all expense paid two weeknight stay at the Luxor Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas! All you have to do is---”

“Awww, shut up!”

He clicked the phone off and drained his second beer. 

At the end of the first quarter, as soon as he rose to go to the bathroom, the doorbell rang. 

"Dammit!" he yelled, walking to the front door and opening it to two young girls holding a big white box.

"Hello. We're selling Girl Scout Cookies and wanted to know if you'd like to buy some?" the taller of the two girls asked. 

He wanted to slam the door in their faces for interrupting the game and interrupting his need to urinate. Still, he loved Thin Mint Cookies, especially frozen and dipped in his morning coffee. He fished his wallet out of his back pocket. 

"Lemme get three boxes of the Thin Mints," he said, pulling out a twenty dollar bill.

"Oh sorry...we're sold out of Thin Mints. We have Peanut Butter Patties, Shortbreads-"

He slammed the door and jogged to the bathroom where he peed like a pressure washer. He flushed the toilet and strolled past the sink and out to the kitchen to get two more beers from the fridge. He sat down in his recliner and opened one of the beers. 

His cell phone rang and he yelled the F word like a gunshot.

It was from a blocked number and at first he wasn't going to answer it but curiosity got the better of him. He answered and an automated voice asked him who he planned to vote for in the upcoming election. He clicked END CALL and for a moment wished it had been a person who'd called and he'd answered on a home phone so he could have the satisfaction of shouting something profane and slamming the receiver down.

He finished his sandwich and started working on the chicken wings and beer while his team struggled to maintain a 10-9 lead in the second quarter. His team was going for it on 4th and goal on the 1 yard line when the doorbell rang. He shouted his frustration and rose, still looking at the TV. 

The running back was stopped short of the goal and Gordon cursed a blue streak. He stomped to the front door and opened it to two young men in black slacks, white shirts and black ties. Behind them were two 10 speed bicycles. One appeared to be holding a book while the other held pamphlets.

"Hello, sir. I'm Bart and this is Eugene and we're with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and we were wondering if we could talk with you for a moment about matters of faith."

"Are you guys crazy?" he asked.

"No, sir," Eugene answered.

"The game's on. Don't you guys watch football?"

"No, sir," Bart answered politely.

"I'm not a religious guy but I think I want to get religion just so I can lose my religion and cuss you guys the hell out! I don't mean to be rude but get off my porch. If I had a dog I'd sic him on you. I'm tempted to grab the garden hose. Go bug my neighbors! I'm watchin' the damn game!!!" he said and slammed the door closed. 

On his way back to his seat his cell phone rang. He fired it at the wall and it shattered into five pieces. Then he stomped down the hall to where the plastic speaker was that chimed whenever someone rang the doorbell. He ripped off the cover and snatched the 9 volt battery out of the socket. 

He went back to his recliner and sat down to finish watching the game in peace. 

 

Shortly after halftime ended the front door opened and Gordon's wife stood in the foyer holding two bulging shopping bags.

“Oh, you're home,” Gordon said, through a mouthful of popcorn and without looking over his shoulder at his wife.

“Gordon, I've been calling and texting you! I didn't know whether you wanted the mauve beanbag chair or the fuchsia one. You might not think we could pull off fuchsia in here but there are accents in the flower pattern on the sofa that would pick it up nicely. And these were gorgeously overstuffed chairs. You didn't answer so I had to put it off. ”

“That's holding! These refs are blind!!” Gordon shouted, throwing a fistful of popcorn at the screen.

“Are you even listening to me?” his wife said, walking into the living room, around the recliner and positioning herself in front of the television.

Gordon sat up, leaning over to see the TV.

“Of course, honey. I'm listening and watching.”

“Can you pause your game and get the stuff out of the car for me? And clean up this popcorn. And why didn't you answer my texts?”

“I dropped my phone and broke it.”

Gordon rose, grabbed the remote and paused the game.

 

 

During the third quarter there were repeated knocks on the front door. He ignored them thinking that the next day he was going to stop by Lowe's on the way home from work and get a big No Trespassing and No Soliciting sign and put them up next to the front door. He would end these intrusions once and for all. And if that didn't work he thought about getting a German Shepherd. Some angry barks from a guard dog should send any trespassers down the road. Or maybe he'd buy one of those fancy video doorbells so he could see the dipshit on his porch interrupting him. It was too bad he couldn't build a trapdoor on the porch. Anyway, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on his team, which was now trailing by three points. 

Outside his front door, a cameraman, soundman, a woman holding a bunch of multicolored balloons and a man in a gold blazer holding an oversized check for a million dollars began walking down the walkway. They climbed into a yellow van parked at the foot of the driveway. 

"Well, " the man in the gold blazer started, "The rules say the person has to be home to win or they forfeit, so we go on to the second place winner and see if they're home. It's a shame."

The van moved off down the street. 

Gordon's team lost 23-20.