The one in front was wearing a powder blue raincoat and carrying an umbrella. She said something like, "Good afternoon," and then some stuff I really don’t remember because by then I was already feeling kind of panicky, and I think stress messes up my memory for certain things like exact wording, and all I was really listening for was the barest possibility that they were trying to do something other than get me to join/give money to their religion, and I didn’t hear it.

I knew what they were. They weren’t wearing "Barack Obama in 08" buttons, or "Save the Animals" PeTA t-shirts, or carrying a petition for me to sign -- they weren’t wearing cop uniforms -- they weren’t carrying a six-pack -- they didn’t ask me a direct question right away, like, "Could we use your phone? We just were in a car accident."

It’s interesting, but years of experience ignoring panhandlers has taught me that somebody who wants something straight up -- information, or a phone -- will generally ask for what they want right away. Whereas people who are trying to trick me into giving them something I didn’t really want to give them will always start out with something else first. It’s not, "Excuse me, I was wondering if you would like to join the Jehovah’s Witnesses today." It’s, "Good morning! My friend and I were just in the neighborhood here, and we were wondering blah blah, if we could talk to you blah blah, some literature here blahbity blah."

The woman in front started to pull a pamphlet out of her bag and I instantly recognized it as Jehovah’s Witnesses propaganda. Which is kind of funny, really -- I can’t think of another religion where the propaganda is quite so uniform in style and color palette. It’s like if the only Protestant propaganda were Chick tracts.

I said, "Sorry, REALLY not interested" and shut the door. In her face. Which is rude, I suppose, although at the time it felt protective, like shutting and locking my door in the face of a home invasion.

And then I sat down on the couch and picked up my sketchbook and felt as sick and nervous as if I HAD just repelled something violent.

I know that I have an atypical reaction to certain kinds of interpersonal conflict -- where things that might seem minor to other people get me so stressed out that I want to vomit, or break something, or both.

My heart was pounding and I had a headache and my hands were a little trembly and I couldn’t easily get back to the work I was doing and I felt mad at myself. When the doorbell rang and I thought it was inquisitors I should have gone with my instinct and hid in the bathroom, ignored them, just avoided the conflict.

But I didn’t do that. Because I thought there was a chance that I was wrong, that they were people who needed my help, or that they had legitimate business of some kind. So I opened the door briefly, and then had to shut it again.

And the more I thought about it, the madder I got that these stupid little old ladies had shown up and done that to me. I wanted them to come back to my door and stand there so that I could yell at them, then slam the door in their faces again, only a little more violently this time.

What I wanted to yell was this:

Unless this is performance art, I image that you’ve told yourself you’re here to share the Good News with me. That you’ve knocked on the door of a stranger on a Saturday morning to try to sell me your version of truth, the way some desperate schlub might try to sell me steak knives.

And I shut the door on you the same way I would shut the door on the knife-wielding schlub, because I’m not interested in being harassed at home so that somebody else can sell me something. I hang up on phone solicitors. I say, "I don’t accept sales calls." Same goes for calls in person.

I don’t accept sales calls.

But you know what? I might feel a little sorry for the schlub trying to sell me steak knives. I wouldn’t be sorry I shut the door on him, but I’d wish him luck in a general way -- you know, the kind of luck that involves switching careers.

You? I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel contempt for you.

Right, contempt.

Of course, maybe knowing that I feel contempt for you gets you a little jazzed, you know? A little psyched about your own righteousness? You have probably been told that being rejected proves you’re on the right path, "all men will hate you because of me," right? You tell people the truth, they don’t want to hear the truth, they revile you’

Maybe. But maybe they revile you because you’re being obnoxious.

It’s an obvious logical fallacy. Just because people are often hostile toward the truth, it does not follow that anything people are hostile toward must therefore be the truth. People are also fairly hostile toward things like armed robbers, swarms of wasps, maggoty food, being killed, and scary clowns.

Get it? If you showed up at my door dressed like the Hellraiser cenobites and said you wanted me to experience the bliss of being ripped apart by a thousand tiny hooks... well, I might not shut the door on you right away because I would assume that was performance art. But the instant I figured out you were serious about the hooks, I would reject you. I would shut the door in your face. (Assuming I still could, and the hooks weren’t restraining my hands or something, but I’m really getting off topic here, so.)

And let’s imagine for a moment that I don’t shut the door on you. Let’s imagine that I invite you in to talk, because I’m curious, or lonely, or bored, or too shy to shut the door in your face so I let you railroad me into chatting just because I hate conflict and you make talking to you easier than getting you to go away, so that’s what we do.

What do you imagine happens then? You give me a Watchtower and I go, "Wow! I’ve never seen one of those before! What an interesting bunch of philosophical and metaphysical ideas they present!"

What, are you from Mars’? Or maybe you think I’m from Mars. Or maybe you think I’m stupid, or naive, or really, really impressionable. But I’ve got news for you -- I know about Jehovah’s Witnesses, and I think your religion is moronic.

Yes, I just insulted your religion. But you know, you just insulted mine. No, you didn’t come right out and call it dumb -- you don’t even know what religion, if any, I practice -- but here you are, knocking on my door, trying to sell me yours instead. So I think you just implied strongly that you think my religion, whatever it is, has got to be inadequate.

Which is fairly insulting, frankly. At least I’m up front about calling your religion names.

But the fact that I know some of what you believe (no blood transfusions or holidays or voting, some weird thing about exactly 144,000 people going to heaven) and have already rejected it as dumber than a box of Paris Hilton isn’t really the point. I don’t believe in the healing power of crystals either. But New Agers don’t knock on my door and try to convince me that their healing energy is real.

I suspect that’s because their religious beliefs don’t require them to try to convert others.

Let’s face it. When you knock on my door, you’re trying to save yourself. But you tell yourself you’re doing it to try to save me. So, not only are you bugging me, you’re bugging me under false pretenses.

Look, if you think you’ve found The Truth, I can understand why you want to share it with the world. Everyone has that impulse, whether The Truth is religion, or politics, or the brilliance of a certain movie. So, tell your friends. Write a book about it. Stand on a street corner with a sign -- which you sometimes do, come to think of it, and when I see you I laugh, but I think somebody standing on a corner with a Watchtower is street theater and I like street theater right up to the point it becomes street harassment.

When you knock on my door, you might think you’re trying to spread Good News. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re trying to sell me steak knives.

And I’m not gonna buy one.