Dark and unshaven he looked as if he might perhaps be the descendant of a rat.
Hunched over, he waved a photocopied leaflet under my nose, spoke really fast and then I realised he wanted my telephone number so he could call me in an unsolicited manner to sell me his home improvements service.
As soon as his lips appeared to be momentarily abating their movement, I said softly "I have to go."
"What does that mean?" He stared at me blankly. "Yes, or no?"
"No."
He was already as far as my land border, with his back to me, when he loudly muttered "should have bloody said that then."
"I beg your pardon?" I demanded.
"Well," he swivelled to face me, "you should've told me straight away instead of showing lots of interest."
"Oh..." I moved towards him, "I'm sorry, I'll remember that for next time. I was trying to be polite."
"Should've told me to fuck off."
I silently closed the door. Perusing the mechanics of his error, I realised he'd burned his bridges with me. This is a technical fault. On the other hand, I don't think I'd hire him anyway.
This encounter filled me with gratitude. I felt quite sorry for that man.
