I should stop reading books

 I was just starting to write this post with the intention of saying just two sentences, because I did not have any inspiration or idea what to share… when the door bell rang.

 So, there I was, home alone, opening the door. This young guy, wearing a red jacket and holding one of those computers that you can tap with a magic pen, was saying Hello, and asking me about our gas and electricity. He shared that his company (it’s a big one. I’m not entirely sure about blog advertising yet, so I will not name it ) was looking into providing lower prices for students. He kept explaining how much better and cheaper it would be, and I was like ‘Cool’. And then all of a sudden he was like ‘Ok, so let me come in and we can set up the account’. This lead to my brain exploding with the thought ‘A MURDERER! SHIT!’ and I just stood still, staring at him and being… ‘Can’t you just give a leaflet?’ To which he didn’t directly reply, but just kept on explaining how if he set up the account now we could always turn it down later, or just keep it up and let that company take real good care of us. Apparently, that was the beauty of it. During this interval I remembered about the good old days and my obsession with serial killers, and I remembered of reading about the Boston Strangler, who would go up to women’s houses and pretend he is the electrician or gas guy and tell them that a leak or a discrepancy of some sort was reported. Then they’d let him… and the rest is not especially happy.

 So, there I am panicking, thinking about the Boston Strangler, listening to this guy explain how the account can only be activated by him… when all of a sudden the phone rang. So, I closed the door, ran to the phone, hoping my Bulgarian friends are calling so I can ask them to come and freaking save me. I pick up and all I hear is “Iawia”, and I go ‘What?’ … ‘Iaea’… ‘What?’ (meanwhile, I am thinking that I have a serial killer on my door and this crazy UK lady is trying to tell me something that I don’t think I will care about)… ‘Erwing?’… ‘Wrong number.’ Then I run back to the door, while simultaneously thinking… what if that woman called to distract me so that the guy can take out a knife or something (yeah, I am impressed with my imagination too). So, I looked through the peephole to see whether he had a knife or not. He didn’t. I opened the door… and then he just kept on explaining about how great the account is and all that I have to do is set up the account with him. I stopped listening as I was thinking of how to kill him if he starts attacking me. At some point he stopped talking, so I just used my wonderful English skills and said ‘Thank you, but no thank you’.  He said rather in bewilderment ’Well, ok, have a nice day’.

 I closed the door, and listened to him go up to one of the other apartments. I started thinking that I was definitely exaggerating I went to my room, all calm and stuff, starting to write a text message, when THE DOOR BELL RANG AGAIN! I nearly died. My first thought was ‘Find a weapon’. I took a pencil… (don’t judge) and then took my phone and pretended I was talking to someone. I opened the door, and there was the guy, giving me the leaflet with his number on it, saying ‘Call me, when you decide something and I will come set it up for you.’ I just said ‘Um, ok’.

 Well, I guess he figured out that he had scared the life out of me, that’s why he gave me his number. Well, my responses and behaviour did change so dramatically in the span of 5 minutes. I started off being polite and charming (come on, the guy was nice looking, couldn’t control myself… oh, wait, the Boston Strangler was really nice looking as well. God, we women are so stupid) and then went abnormally quiet and freaked out. Well, excuse me, who would expect that it is a good idea to send a guy to say, ‘The only way for me to set up this amazingly genius account by this amazingly international and massive company, is to come inside your home and tap stuff on a computer’, to a woman who is home alone. You have to be crazy to let the guy in. I should write them a letter and say they should change this insane practice. God!

 My flat mate laughed at me.