The Joy of Being Rude

We're eating cereal, and then the doorbell rings.

My guest looks at me. "Non!" she says. "Non, they are early!"

Too right. "Stay here, I'll get it," I grunt. I take my bowl with me as I go.

I stomp up to the front door, and peek out the window. Yes - another real estate agent is here. Shining blue Acura on the corner, her face already arranged into a phony news-anchor smile. They're always so eager to show off how successful they are. She's here with a prospective buyer.

My landlord, he's selling the house I rent. I've now had the pleasure of permitting at least a half-dozen tire-kickers poking through my place in the last week, looking in my cupboards and closets, asking me their stupid questions:

"Is that a fireplace?"

"Is that your cat?"

"Watching the Simpsons, eh?"

All when I'm worn out from a day at work, trying to clean up after I eat, or attemping to enjoy my day off with some peace and quiet. It got tired for me after the first walk-through.

And now, another unwelcome guest is here, an hour and a half early on my Saturday morning. I open the door with a grimace. I'm wearing a Bugs Bunny t-shirt, a black I'm-a-badass toque, and three days of stubble on my chin.

"Hello," sniffs the realtor, her made-up facade slipping just a bit at the unsavory sight of me. "I know we're here a few minutes early, but I thought it we could look show the place anyway, since we were in the neighborhood." Her wrist is cocked out at me, holding her business card between two precious, manicured fingers, and she takes a step forward, as though I am to swing the door wide for Her Majesty.

"You're not a few minutes early. You're an hour and a half early," I say. I ignore her card. What the hell do I want it for, anyway? I'm not going to call her.

She frowns regally, looking at her notepad. "Oh, no, no," she says. "My schedule says that we are to view the property between 11:30 and 12:30 today?" She shows me the piece of paper, like it proves I'm wrong somehow.

"No. Your office originally scheduled the viewing time today between twelve and three. I told them that wasn't acceptable, and they re-arranged it to be between 12:30 and 1:30."

She narrows her eyes at me, lifting her lip in a sneer. "Oh, is this a bad time then?" she patronizes me.

"Actually, yeah it is. I'm eating my breakfast. Check your schedule and come back when you're supposed to be here." I close the door, and lift a spoonful of cereal to my mouth. Outside, the realtor flaps her arms in disgust, and walks down the driveway with her client, who looked like a dumbass in any event.

I return to the couch. "Bon, bain...they are gone?" my friend asks me.

I wink at her, in a good mood again. "Yes, and they aren't coming back."