This morning I was shuffling around in my dark apartment, curtains drawn, in my underwear, waking up after a late night drinking. I can tell it’s sunny outside but I’m not quite ready to let it in yet.
My doorbell rings.
I run to get my bathrobe. No one knocks on my door, ever, normally. I figure it has to be important. But while I’m running around trying to cover up for this emergency that has someone at my door, they knock again. Must be urgent.
I glance through the peephole at the same time I’m pulling the door open, but all I get is a flash of dark hair and white blouse.
Standing at my door are two young, pretty, Asian girls, in crisp white blouses and pressed knee-length skirts. Are they going to try to convert me?
I smile nervously and slightly hide behind my door, aware of my hairy naked white legs, even though everything unseemly is covered up, for some reason.
The first girl leans back upon first seeing me, and after the awkward moment, she says, “Oh, we’re sorry! We were looking for Korean people!”
My last name is Moon. They must have gotten my name and address from some ethnically-sorted list. I get junk mail in Korean all the time. My nickname in high school (one of them) was “The Reverend”. But my ancestors came from England and Wales, at least on my dad’s side.
“It’s actually an English name,” I say, my voice crackly with sleep.
They’re backing away, nodding, shaking their head. “Oh, is it?” the first girl says, and then they’re gone.
Looks like I don’t get to cross that item off my list of things to do before I die. Not today.