Today i was working with my partner Corey on filling the many orders which had been piled up since our shared server was eaten and corrupted over a month ago. We were struggling to keep our thoughts clear as we burned cd’s and stuck labels on them, archiving paypal transaction id’s and keeping the outstanding made to orders where we could find them again when the doorbell rang.

“oh no,” i thought. “who could that be?”

I open the lower door and ask “hello?”

I hear a sound like someone’s mind has just been blown. kind of a “whoah…” and then the voice asks “where are you?”

“look over the railing” i say calmly.

a very enthusiastic, and sadly deeply cliché “hippie” pokes his curious head over the railing and smiles at me.

“Hello!” he almost shouts. “My name is Ras Kennedy and…”

“I don’t have any money” i interrupt. Looking at this fellow, even from below, i can see by the clip board, the plastic bag stuffed full of something, his military style back pack, and the pen behind his ear, that this character is out for cash.

“I wasn’t going to ask you for money” he says, somewhat stalled, already defensive, but with eyes wide with the artificial wonder of years dedicated to a “lifestyle.”

I sigh. “What did you want then?”

Ras Kennedy clears his throat abruptly and explains,” Well, I;m glad you asked that question. I represent a publication from the mid-west which represents creative arts…”

“I’m not interested.” i interrupt again, and move to go back inside.

“Whoah, bro.” says Ras Kennedy. “That’s not very nice.”

“What’s not nice about my not being interested?” I decide to interview him, maybe.

“Well let me ask you something” He seems to begin again. This is avenue number two. “Are you, or anyone in your household creative?”

“Yes we are very creative.” I say calmly.

“What sort of thing are you into?” Ras Kennedy asks, leaning over the banister now, and kind of trying to peer into the doorway below.

“None of your business,” I reply flatly.

“Wow!” he announces, and gives a little look about the neighborhood to see if there might be any of “the people” about to support his assertion. “That’s not very nice.”

His face has begun to twitch a little, like the only thing in his mind at that moment is an inner mantra of “main-tain dude, just main-tain, ok…”

“What’s not nice about what i do not being any of your business? I don’t know you.” I say, almost laughing.

I am amused, not at all irritated.

“Just tell me what sort of creative work that you do.” He insists.

“It’s really not any of your business, and i don’t care to tell you about it. I am not interested in your magazine.” I smile sadly, and make my way back into the downstairs door.

“You are not a nice person!” he calls after me.

I pause, poke my head back outside, look into his quivering face, his narrowing eyes, at once i feel for him. This business of walking the suburban neighborhoods of the east bay knocking on doors for CalPerg, or Ralph Nader, the Alameda County Jobs for the Homeless programs, It’s got to be hard work. Collecting money, if you can, by operating a door to door search for the vulnerable, the occupied, those who would otherwise be watching an infomertial on the couch. That’s just gotta be murder on a person’s feet, as well as their self-esteem. I think about buying a little metal placard which announces “No Solicitors” so that it would be within my legal rights to shoot Ras Kennedy for trespassing next time he comes over to nose his way into my private business.

I consider the irony of so chiché a character finding it unthinkable that a creative person would have absolutely zero interest in exposing his work in some magazine from the “mid west.” And how did he get a name like “Ras Kennedy” anyway? Isn’t that a spiritual name? Aren’t you given the Ras as the result of years spent in reflection and old testament bible study? How did this devoted christian, rasta, hippie end up on my doorstep asking me to give him money to gain broader exposure in his magazine? A magazine i doubt exists.

I smile at him, after just gazing at him, and his many feelings about having been rejected flatly, not even allowed to explain his angle, and say “Ok, then i guess i’m not very nice.”

He looks at me a while. I gaze kindly back at him. We are agreed.

So, i close up the door and get back to work.