The man at the door

The doorbell being rung during dinner time is never a good thing. Unlike the UK where you are plagued with religious lunatics, double glazing salesmen and cleaning products salesmen, the US has very few door-to-door sales people because they would get shot! So the people who do call on you generally have nothing to loose- converted drug addicts who want to paint your sign, reformed alcoholics who want you to fund their shelter and bussed-in impoverished kids trying to convince you to take magazine subscriptions so that they can "go to college" or "play football in Europe". These people are pretty desperate.

So when the doorbell rang last night when we were having dinner we heaved a heavy sigh and went into the hall.

Through the colored glass prism panes at the side of the door we could make out his shadowy outline- a desperately skinny man (probably due to excessive heroin use) with wild hair, waving his arms up and down. This guy was going to be trouble. We cautiously opened the door ready with our "Not interested" and our "No thanks" phrases at the ready.

But it was Mr. Gerken, Alexanders kindergarten teacher with a new Belgian brew for me to try.

Awesome!