Many, many times throughout my working life, I have given thanks to a/some/The God that I have had an office environment job, warm, light, quiet(ish).
I think of all the jobs I would hate to do.
And the Cold Caller is the one that I would hate the most.
Walking the streets in all weathers, knocking on the door of people whom you don't know, never knowing what would appear when the door(if it did) opened.
Knock, knock, a long pause, or so it seemed, the light appeared in the fanlight above the door, the door wrenched open in a "what the bloody hell do you want?" manner.
It was one of those houses where the front door opened straight into the living room and in the background of the lightless room glowed The TV.
The shadowy figure standing in the doorway, TV Times in hand, his eyes continually glancing at me and then darting back to gaze, longingly, at the TV, a look that said "please say what you have to whilst the adverts are on, and then go."
Knock, knock, the door slowly opened, just a few inches, to expose the security chain and there, some distance down from me, I saw an eye, a bloodshot watery eye, attached to a frail elderly lady with an hearing -aid.
"Good evening madam."
"eh?"
"Good evening madam."
"eh?"
"Good evening madam."
"What do you want?"
Knock, knock, No! Your worst nightmare, there stood in the doorway a "Slob", unshaven, tattooed, mucky vest, fag in mouth, fat belly, beer can in hand.
"What do you want?"
"Er, sorry sir, wrong house."
Knock, knock, BANG! The sound of bone against glass sets you shaking in your shoes, sweat flows from every pore in your body, you have never been as frightened in your life, for there in the window the large head of a snarling, white spit dribbling, Rottweiller.
"Don't think I will bother with this house."
Knock, knock, The door slowly opens to expose a soft red light within which is the silhouette of a voluptuous lady, possibly in her sixties, hair dyed an Autumnal ruddy brown, deep red lipstick, dressed in a diaphanous negligee.
"Well, hello darling, and what can I do for you?"
"Er", gulp, "Er", gulp. "Could you tell me where I could find...?"
Now sat in the car, tie wrenched off, third cigarette smoked in two minutes, whisky bottle from glove compartment gently caressed, the end of another day.
All you want to do is sleep, but sleep only brings tomorrow closer.
