Windows & Doors 

Ding, dong.

He rang the bell. Why? It's clear he sees me. Do I look like a guy who wants to answer the door? I don't. He should see that; he's staring at me. Crap.

"Yeah?"

I handle the door differently than I do the phone. If I hear the door, I'll answer it. The thing is, from my office, I rarely hear it, especially not during the summer with all the fans running. I think if somebody knocks, rings, or chimes, I should answer it. I just need to know they're there.

Sales-boy knows. I'm standing in my dining room in my shorts and t-shirt, with a full glass of water. The door's open to let a breeze through the house. He sees me through the security screen. I'm hard to miss when you're leaning against the screen with your hand cupped over your eyes like you're casing the joint. His other hand holds a pamphlet. I think he's selling magazines.

"You wouldn't want to buy any magazines would you?" He presses the brochure to the steel mesh, like I can see it.

With such a strong sales pitch, I don't know. I'm frozen I think a part of me is hoping he doesn't see me. The floating neon glass of water is just an illusion.

I flow with the current direction, "No, I don't think so."

"Thank you." He turns and walks away. What the hell was that? At least he tried? I mean I can see where it works in dating, but in sales, "At least he tried" is nothing more than an epitaph they staple over your emaciated corpse.

When I was a teenager selling magazines I was all over it. I rarely sold many, but I always sold enough to buy the Wonka Gobstoppers and a new record from whatever band appled my eye. That's how I got my Glass Houses LP. I sold to eat. I learned to read houses.

It's true. You save so much time once you learn the three houses groups. There's the "Go away!" house. That's the one with the moat, the Rottweiler and the gun turrets. They don't want you, just turn around.

There are the houses, like mine, that have no clear sign. You approach and check things out. You never know, you might get lucky.

"Hello sailor."

Then there's the third category. That's the ones that may be open to other sales-boys, but me? I'm persona non grata.. Either I TP'ed this house on Halloween, they didn't like my pitch last year, or maybe they just didn't like the way I look. whatever, I can't get in, I've tried.

"Hello?"

"Go away!"

"Nice Day!'

Slam!

Once you learn these three houses, you save lots of time and put the effort where it matters. Woody Allen is credited with saying that 57 percent of success is showing up. It's all in the "hello."

"At least he tried."

I did try the other day. Not with magazine-boy. That was just a knock on the door to get your attention. No this knock started with an email.

It was one of the dating windows I've been peeping into. This time they brought the window to me. They wanted to tell me about a tremendous opportunity. I always answer the door, so I checked it out. The woman standing on my email was beautiful! She had this long dark hair, welcoming smile, and these piercing red eyes I hadn't seen since the toaster stopped talking to me Ok, I didn't hold the red eyes against her. We all have our hang-ups. I mean look at me, right? I could allow red eye. She's local, she's beautiful, she's in a picture in my mail…did I mention she was beautiful? It's true! There was another slight problem: She's tall. Like really tall. I'm not. In fact she towers over me by 5 inches!

Holy Statue of Liberty, Batman!

I mean, I don't care. I'm a guy. Height doesn't bug us, on the other hand, it does bother women. It bothers you a lot. I think that's the size that really matters. It's ok. We all have our things. It's better to know up front. That's why I'm wondering why eDates R Us hired Ralph Malph to do their pairing. I'm not in her league. What kind of practical joke is this? Ding dong ditch?

I closed the window; that was one door I just wasn't meant to knock on.

Still, 15 minutes later I look again. She's captivating. Wow! Her screen name could be a real name. I'm bored. I check. I open Myspace, enter name, city, age range, and press "enter."

There she is! Holy Cow! She's still beautiful! I cant explain, but it wasn't just comeliness. Her pictures exuded personality like I give off stink. She looked like somebody fun to talk to, somebody fun to know, and somebody who wasn't some teenager named SEXY694U. She appeared to have things together. What's more, I'm sure it was together enough to know that she didn't want anything to do with a writing dwarf across town.

"57 percent….showing up." Screw it! I didn't want to do the dating site thing. Like I said, I don't believe in them. I did believe that I wanted her to know somebody thought she was gorgeous. I clicked her MySpace "add friend" link, then typed this message:

I wanted to let you know you're radiant. Your pictures shine with life and personality. Sometimes we all need to hear that.--RB

That's all I could fit in the character limit, but at least I tried, right?

That was a few days ago. I never heard back, but I'm fine with that. I really just thought she deserved to know that somebody thought she was beautiful. I can't say that to all women I'd like to. Some of those doors are closed, like MyEx. I'd never get past the gun turrets.

And yeah, there are those other doors too. The doors who've rejected me; I won't return there unless I'm invited. Still this was a new door, and I knocked. I came out of my shell--if only for a moment. Hang what you will on my epitaph, but no matter what else you put, you'll have to add:

At least he tried.