House Calls

 I'm waiting for a my doctor to call me back, so I'm sitting in silence. The phone  has been following me around all morning, my constant companion. But, at a quarter to 12, I risk the roar of the kettle, and make myself a cup of tea. 

The moment I sit down to take a sip there's a powerful knock at the door, shattering the silence and causing me to spill tea all over the rug. Sake. I've already had a scam phone call on the landline this morning, and now this rude intrusion puncturing my perfect silence. I'm in my pants and a tee shirt too. I take the precaution of buttoning my fly before opening the door. 

On the steps is a small man in a blue boiler suit. He has round, pebble glasses, white hair sitting on top of a red face, coconut thatch on an edam, and the teeth of Elton John, you could push a finger of fudge through that diastema. He has a clipboard under one arm and he's going to want to read the electricity metre. 

"Morning mate. Read your metre?"

He clocks I'm in my pants. That my hair is dishevelled. Maybe he sees the rash on my neck that makes me look like I've lately been cut down from a gibbet. Despite appearances, he is a sensitive man. 

"Do you want me to give you a card? You can take the reading yourself, or..."

"No, you're alright. Come in. Sorry. I'm in my pants."

He looks genuinely concerned about crossing the threshold. Surely, in his line of work, he must meet people in a state of dishabille all the time. Those Robin Asquith films are historical documents. As he comes in, scrabbling around in the hallway, looking for the meter, he says, "I like your Tee shirt, mate." I'm wearing the Bartleby tee. It says, white on black, "I would prefer not to". 

"Should get one meself," he says, bum in the air, staring at the meter now, "come in handy, like."

"Yes, it's starting to feel pretty apt right now."

A wasp saunters into the house. Casually, and at knee level, it just floats in. I'm powerless to stop it. 

"You've let a wasp in." I say. 

"Wha'?"

"A wasp has followed you in. It's gone somewhere inside the house." He's unconcerned. Well, he would be. 

"Have you heard of the comedian, Tommy Cooper?" he says. Interesting segue way. 

"I have."

"Did you hear the one about the man who went into the pet shop?" I immediately understand where he's going with this. 

"Ah yes."

"And he says to the man, "I wanna buy a wasp" and the man says "We don't sell wasps, mate." and the bloke says to him, "Well, you've one in the window." We both laugh. I come back with one, because he needs to know I'm a pretty cool guy who's just wearing his pants. 

"Did you hear about the bloke who rang up the council and said, "I want a skip outside my house." And the council bloke says "Well, I'm not stopping you." Big laugh. He's outside now, chuckling away, and as he leaves he gives me a big wave and I give him one back. We're now best friends. 

I go back into the living room and open the window for the wasp, who is bouncing off the glass. It noses out like a pet cat off to try and murder things. 

I return to my cup of tea. I check my phone. The doctor didn't call.