“You need to come inside right now. There’s a man in our house and you need to get him out right now.”

Two sentences that I wish The Wife™ would have considered rephrasing before my heart dropped through the bottom of my pants. Such a way with words she has…

Saturday morning started completely normally, with much running (on a treadmill, not from rabid lions) and much yard work (yuck). As I finished blowing off the grass clippings from the driveway, The Wife™ comes out of the house hurriedly to deliver this poorly-worded ultimatum. So after mentally preparing myself to kick someone’s ass (yeah right), I charged inside to find some snot-nosed super prep sitting smugly at our table. Instantly I knew that I was dealing with something much, much more dangerous than an unnamed intruder: a sales person.

As this weaselly little 20-something, smooth-talking assclown begins to reread repitch his sale, he fails to realize that I’ve already stopped listening entirely. Instead my brain is playing out scenarios of how to get him to leave politely, because I have a very hard time being rude to someone even if they are inconveniencing me. In my own home. Can I slowly move him towards the door? Nope, he’s firmly planted. Maybe I could fake a diahrea attack. Too risky. I bet he wouldn’t fall for the old “hey! look over there!” diversionary trick. Hell, Jonas doesn’t even get bamboozled by that. All my powers are rendered useless with this guy as he continues to drone on about security systems and how we absolutely MUST HAVE ONE. I have a strong desire to punch this smiley gladhand in the throat.

I try several times to terminate the conversation, finally resorting to the blunt approach of telling him that we’re simply not interested, will never be interested and don’t really want to hear any more from his face. This does little to sway him, as he dodges and weaves and starts almost back at the beginning with the third iteration of his pitch. Finally, after asking him for his business card for the second time he leaves. And that’s when it hits me.

This guy had damn near pushed past my wife to come into our house. He proceeded to scope out the entire first floor layout. He questioned how long we had been in the neighborhood, what contacts we had and what we thought our security weaknesses were. He refused to leave a business card or show and identification. He didn’t drive to the house, he was simply walking the neighborhood. The only telling fact was the “Pinnacle Security” polo shirt and lanyard around his neck. A quick search around the Internets and the Better Business Bureau website (and a meatspace check of the Yellow Pages) yielded no record of such a company.

Were we were being cased?

If it’s true or not, we’ll never know. But after replaying the entire scenario in my head a few times, it just seemed to sketchy—enough so to let the police know. I felt idiotic calling them, feeling like that paranoid old lady on the corner who files a report if the neighbor’s cat meows too loudly. But everyone I talked to said the same thing: that’s not right, you need to let the police know.

Somehow in the end, I was the one who felt badly. I felt stupid for letting the police know. I felt ashamed for not realizing what was going on while he was still there. Maybe this kid was a real salesman, trying to make an honest (albeit PUSHY) living. The only thing that I can hope is that if we get burgled in the future that Jonas will break out the Big Woofs and pretend to be a scary attack dog. I fear he’ll instead walk over to the intruder and hand them a tennis ball, fancying a game of fetch instead. Another thing we need to work on…

So be wary, friends, that not everyone who comes to your door necessarily has your best interest in mind. And don’t be like me and have guilt and remorse about doing your civic duty. Oh, and one more thing, if something like this happens to you make sure to mention that you are VERY interested in security, which is why you have ammased a stockpile of firearms in your basement that could rival Charleton Heston’s collection.

You just have to remember to say that while the person is still there, not after the fact. I’m so stupid.