yelling at the front gate
March 10, 2005Tempers are short around here at tax season. I get a generous share of solicitors, mostly gardeners who can spot my palm, redwood, and five giant oak trees from miles away, and sense a college fund growing. Generally, I tense up when the doorbell rings, and even more so after a workday that has been less than stellar. When I got no answer to my ‘Who is it?’, I shouted that I was working, and what did they want anyway.
Imagine my chagrin at finding my mailman of many years, running early, package in hand. When I apologized, he confided that he carries his ‘piece’ when he answers his door at night.
