Door-to-Door

I was interrupted in writing my essay on the history of The Age last night by a knock at the door. Expecting it to be the census collectors, I answered the door with census in hand. Turned out it wasn't the census collectors but... someone from The Age! Well, he wasn't from The Age itself, but was no doubt doing commission work for a company outsourced by The Age to sell subscriptions. Or something like that. The missus reckons I spend too much time talking to door-to-door salespeople. I just can't shut the door in their face, which is basically the only way to end the conversation. I was pretty good with this fellow though, I told him I wasn't interested and started to close the door, but he kept talking, so I listened briefly before interjecting with "No, sorry, I'm not interested", and he kept talking, and eventually, I kinda (gently) closed the door in his face. The previous door-to-door visit I had was from Oxfam. He was an energetic young man, a bit of a hipster, obviously targeting the multicultural lefty enclave of Brunswick with his "Hey, are you down with Oxfam?" approach. Seeing as he was from an NGO I lent him my ear for a while. He wanted me to sign up to some deal where I'd commit to pay $1 a day, or as he put it - "the cost of a pack of chewy". I told him I'd be happy to make a donation, but I didn't want to commit to $365 over a year. He kept bangin' on, and I asked him if he could leave me with some brochures so that I could discuss it with my missus. He didn't have any brochures, which seems strange, unless they're relying on their oratorical skills to win people over before they can mull over the details. I couldn't get rid of this chap, and in the end I had to abruptly say "Look, I've told you numerous times that I'm not interested, now can you please leave". I felt bad about saying that, but he was really giving me the jimminy crickets.