Someone unexpectedly knocks on my door.
I know what you're thinking, silly right? Let me give you a little background. During my young and formidable days, when my only irrational fear was being the last kid standing in line, I happened to watch a Sally Field movie that would change my life forever. The only scene of the movie, whose title I'm not sure I ever knew, that has stayed with me to this day is probably only 30 seconds long. In the scene the door bell rings and Sally's young daughter runs to the door and opens it to reveal a strange man in black. The strange man in black pulls out a gun, shoots, and kills the little girl. Que Amanda's irrational doorbell phobia.
Fast forward several years later, and every time I hear the doorbell ring or a knock on the door, my heart relocates to my stomach. It happens no matter where I am, if it's unexpected and I am alone, I get scared. This fear has only heightened since moving abroad. At least in Colorado, the person at my door most likely speaks English. Here and in Korea, there is an automatic language barrier that doesn't seem to make the person turn around and move on to the next apartment. Usually they just stay and talk louder, while occasionally trying to act out the reason for their visit. The whole situation might actually be funny if my adrenaline wasn't pumping and my fight-or-flight reflexes weren't kicking in.
Here are a few examples of what has happened to me when I have answered my door here in Poland:
1. A man wanted to check my water meter. Ok, pretty standard.
2. A man asked for milk for his baby. Don't worry, I gave him some, that was sad.
3. A man wanted to check my gas pipes. This is good for my well being.
4. The building manager wanted to give me my new key for the front door. I thought it was something more serious judging by her aggressiveness and volume level. She should smile more.
5. My older and potentially delusional neighbor thought she heard children screaming and being murdered upstairs. She was crying and shaking. This ended with a call to the police, and probably deserves a blog of it's own.
And there you have it, the reason I have stopped answering my door altogether. I am beginning to think my irrational fear isn't so irrational after all...