On Saturday the doorbell rings. I answer it, and standing in front of me is, what must have been, a teenage kid in a black suit. “I’m _____, and this is my associate,” as he motions to his right. I look down. It must be his 6 year old sister. “Hello,” I say. The kid in the suit starts saying something like “blah blah blah blah … numbers … blah blah,” but I don’t hear any of it — I’m fixated on the pamplet he’s holding up for me to see. On the cover is a cartoonish drawing of an elderly couple looking up, confused. All around their heads are random numbers, floating and the title “What Do the Numbers Mean?”.
“Is this something you’d be interested in reading?” he asks. “No, thanks,” I say — and as I shut the door, I’m already kicking myself. *Of course* that is something I’d be interested in reading. I’m wondering what kind crazy stuff this kid and his associate are hawking. Oh well… they most certainly would’ve wanted money in exchange for such information.