I am glad our doorbell is broken. It hangs there, but it probably hasn’t worked since the Carter administration. If it worked, I could never ignore the kids who come knocking, like right now. Usually I'm glad when kids stop by to see if my kids can play, but If I'm not in the mood to interact, I somehow lose my sense of hearing.
A doorbell is so loud, so insistent. With a knock, there’s a chance that I could be on another level doing important things --what was that crazy 60’s architect ON when he designed a 5 level split level??-- and “miss” it entirely. In truth, I’m usually blogging or drinking a diet Pepsi out of range of the windows, holding out until the knock stops.
With the exception of certain unnamed heavy-fisted young knockers, “Your car was there so I didn't give up! I knew someone was home,” the knocks eventually dwindle after a while.
I’ve been on the other side of this with my friends in the ‘hood who share the same model house that I do. I have one friend who hasn’t answered the door to me in the 6 years I’ve lived here. Of course, when she doesn’t answer my knocks, I’m sure she’s in the basement or the shower. I hope.