No way! The doorbell is ringing early on Saturday morning, at, wait a minute, let me check the alarm clock: half past seven! What the hell is going on?
Can’t a person sleep in undisturbed during his free weekend?
My wife doesn’t care, she sleeps through everything as usual.
I get out of bed anyway, in case there’s a fire or something. I put on my bathrobe and slippers, stumble down the stairs, just shy of breaking my neck, and open the front door.
Two pale children are standing on the doorstep, in drizzling rain.
Despite this, they talk loudly and enthusiastically over each other.
Rubbing my eyes, I grumble: ‘What do you want? What’s going on?’
They want paper for opa (grandpa).
– Paper?
– Yes, for opa!
– For ópa? What are they talking about?
– Yes, they say beaming, as if they don’t damnit realize that they are ringing the whole neighborhood out of bed.
– Huh?
– For O.P.A.: the Oud Papier Actie (Waste Paper Collection) for the Reformed Church, one of them clarifies in a high-pitched voice.
Oh no, those hypocrites! Did I have to get out of bed for that? I’ll get them back!
– What kind of paper?
– Waste paper!
– Yes, but what kind of waste paper?
– Newspapers and such.
– I don’t have any newspapers!
They shrug their shoulders in disappointment.
– I do have those door-to-door papers and flyers, that kind of free junk.
– That’s okay too!
– And I have printer paper and notebooks and hundreds of books.
– Yes, yes, that’s okay too!
– Yeah, but hey, you’re not getting those!
Disappointed faces.
– Only waste paper? Used paper?
– Yes! They look happy again.
– Used toilet paper?
– No, yuck!
– Used paper towels?
– No thank you!
– Wrapping paper, cover paper, paper money, paper tissues?
I talk louder and louder and point angrily at the wall next to me.
– Wallpaper?
– Eh… The children look at each other desperately.
On the little table next to me in the hall lies a crumpled little shopping list. I give them that.
– There you go! And now get lost!
– Thank you! They grab the piece of paper from my hand and they are gone.
Can’t those people occupy their children in some other way on an early Saturday morning? Isn’t this child labor? Do they think it’s normal to call people out of bed at such an ungodly hour? Get the hell out of here!
Paper for their reformed grandpa, ridiculous!
Furious, I stomp back up the stairs, back to my warm bed.