This afternoon, I left my apartment to go get cash for rent. (My apartment building is a cash-only kind of place, if that gives you any idea about the condition of it…) As I was leaving, there were two chipper fellows in ties carrying backpacks coming into our parking lot. These fellows were clearly Mormons—not only were they wearing the uniform, but there is a Mormon church right next door to my apartment.
Some part of me wanted to go find a giant bell to ring and emphatically shout, “The Mormons are coming! The Mormons are coming!” Instead, I just smiled at them as I departed.
Upon my return, I went to the building manager’s apartment, and knocked on his door. He didn’t answer. But his car was here. I knocked again. Nothing. I went back to my place and fucked around on the computer for a little bit. Regardless of the ghetto-ness of where I live, the neighborhood is very quiet. Today was silent, with the exception of the rhythmic knock knock knock knock knock, pause, knock knock knock knock knock, pause. The knocks always came in fives.
I listened as the knocks moved up and down the walkway. Inside, I debated as to how I was going to react when they knocked on my door. Should I open the door and say, “Thanks, but no thanks?” Should I hide in the bedroom and pretend I’m not home?
Miraculously, I did not have to make a decision because they never knocked on my door. They knocked on the neighbors’ doors on either side of me, but not mine. I watched from my window on the third floor as the two left, no less chipper, and headed back towards their church. As soon as their feet left our parking lot, it was as if the apartment complex came back to life. The apartment manager opened his door and came out to look around. About thirteen other people did the same. My neighbors two-doors down came out with folding chairs, cigarettes and beer. The guy from apartment thirteen came out and began working on his yellow pickup truck. Peace was ours, once again.