A few years ago we installed a large screen door on the frontside to allow ventilation and sunshine to flood into the house. This isn’t as useful as it sounds, for there is seldom a cross-breeze. By the time the seasonal sun has positioned itself to sufficiently light up the hallway, it has become too hot and the door is closed for the AC.
Someone likes the screen door locked at all times when the front door is ajar, lest we are invaded by thugs or dastards. Apart from Mormons and sundry teens selling coupon books, people no longer call at the door offering their services. We are told to be dubious if any do appear, lest they be after our savings or turn out to be mad rapists or (worse) professional burglars coming to scout-out location. It’s been years since I last saw the fellow who came around selling popsicles. To be accurate, he didn’t come to the door per se but he drove around the neighborhood on this go-cart which played tinkling tunes announcing his arrival. I would probably miss him now as the screen door is locked; by the time I found the key to let myself out Popsicle Pete would have whizzed away.
I have a vague memory in my youth there used to be a knife sharpener who wasn’t very good at his trade but it gave our street a bit of Dickens feeling. I wish a butcher and/or a fruit&vegetable vendor would come around; they would make a fortune selling me on-the-spot produce, for I hate going to the grocery store. I used to use ‘Peapod’ but when you are expecting a delivery the suspense of the process is ruined.I vaguely remember a nursery rhyme in which there was reference to “The Muffin Man’ who would appear on one’s doorstep and sell you hot-crossed buns or something.
I guess it is only in porn movies where delivery men routinely show up and want in – in a way. And I don’t remember the receivers of such gentleman callers ever having to struggle with unlocking the screen door.