The knock at the door instantly puts you into into a mood even parts irritated and nervous. You shuffle to the door and swing it open, greeting the two young men on your stoop with a pronounced frown. They wear plain white shirts and black slacks; in their hands are leather-bound black books.
Taking bets on Mormons or JWs, you think to yourself.
"Good morning sir! We represent the Jehovah's Witnesses, do you have a moment to talk about…the lord?"
"I don't have much time," you declare impatiently as you begin to close the door, "I'm going to have to ask you to le-"
The young man juts his foot into the space between the door and the frame, stopping your dismissal. "Sir…I beg you to reconsider," pleads the prostheltizer matter-of-factly.
"Get your foot out of my door, mister missionary," you say sternly.
"Sir, sir…," the missionary says, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. "I can see that you have a very nice soul. It would be a shame," he says, a mischievous look forming on his lips,"…if anything…happended…to it."
An expression of terrified recognition forms on your face. "I have a family," you beg.
"We know," the twenty-three-year-old religious zealot in front of you says without an ounce of emotion. "That's why we're giving you this opportunity."