Unfiltered Story #67210

Unfiltered | June 15, 2016

(My father has died only that morning, and friends of the family have come over to comfort us. The door bell rings and I open it to find a door-to-door charity worker. I am REALLY not in the mood for this, and react accordingly.) Charity Worker: Good evening.

Me: Hi.

Charity Worker: How are you doing?

Me: Not too great.

Charity Worker: Oh, may I ask why?

Me: My father died this afternoon.

(I watch with detached interest as the smile really does drop off the man’s face.) Charity Worker: Oh. Umm…you probably don’t want me around then.

Me: No, thank you.

Charity Worker: Umm, I’ll just go. I hope you’ll be able to get through this hard time.

Me: Thank you.

(I shut the door, then go into the living room where my mother and a family friend have been listening to the conversation and are smiling, despite themselves.)

Me: I feel horrible now. That poor guy! I’ve probably traumatized him.

Mother: Don’t knock yourself for telling the truth. He’ll be fine by the time he gets to the next door.