The dog came to the door first, then the two girls and the Mom. They looked so worried, through the elegant etched glass behind the scrimmy curtain. No one knocks on doors on the Old West Side unless they are up to no good? Seeing that it was just some weird old lady didn't seem to comfort them, either, brothers and sisters. But they did eventually open the door enough to hear my request, albeit with all three humans clustered together behind the dog, a hand each on him/her.
I guess I was a street person, insofar as I was just somebody coming off the street, up to their door.
I'm always a little surprised when someone knocks on my door, too, though the main concern is whether I have enough clothes on not to have startled anyone looking through the window as they approached. Don't want to scare off your girl scout cookie purveyors, should some ever arrive. (Which reminds me, I need to get to one of their distribution locations soon.)
In that Michael Moore gun movie one of the more memorable bits, to me, is when he goes up to houses in Toronto to test the "Canadians don't lock their doors" theory. I think about that a lot too.
I'm glad I borrowed their shovel, though, and provided an overall no-need-for terror experience of a stranger off the street.
Later in the day I committed something of a faux pas, I believe, when I asked someone whether she had made her bag. It was quilty and homemade-looking and floral. Turned out it was a fancy designer quilty homemade-looking floral bag, from the same designer who made a clutchy mini-bag she had inside it, and showed me.
Yeah I'm not ashamed of that ignorance, as I'm sure you can tell. But that one was a surprise. And kinda funny, that a designer would go for a sort of frumpy look like that. Though I guess it did "say" "homey." In the older sense of "homey."