walk-ins not welcome at this beauty parlor.

last night i was at the office a little later than usual, all by myself, and the cleaning crew came in to do their thang while i was still type type typin' away.

i hear a rapping at the front window. i ignore it.

i hear a rapping at the back door. i go peek.

someone's out there, and i sure can't understand what they're saying. i try to communicate with the lady cleaning my office, dusting off my ol' conversational espanol (very valuable b.a....seems it turned out to be total b.s. because i could not communicate anything to her).
i leave the guy outside.

it reminded me of my old job, and old habits die hard.

i had this very loud, very smart, very intimidating boss, and this office with double tinted windows in an unmarked building. i did my little sales job from the reception area, and i had to buzz everyone in.

walk-ins NOT welcome.

"don't let anyone in, hally," he'd say. (he said my name kind of wrong.)
"if they matter they'll have a badge that gives them access to the door."
"don't let them in even if they look nice."
"don't let them in if they have an axe stuck in their head. call an ambulance and let them wait outside."

i lived and died by those words because i was scared to death of my boss, and i knew the one guy i buzzed in would come in and kill us all and steal our secret sauce.

i was often suspicious of the mailman.

and that's why last night i didn't let in the cleaning lady's husband so that she could give him the car keys.

end scene.