Leilani

Scenario: Burgular Insurance

It was late afternoon when I heard the knock. Not the quick, nervous kind, but slow and practiced — someone used to knocking on a lot of doors.

I tucked my book under a pillow, smoothed my skirt, and peeked through the peephole. Just one man on the porch, about my age — maybe a little older. Clean shirt, shiny shoes, clipboard tucked under his arm. He caught my eye through the glass and smiled, warm and easy, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he began when I cracked the door open, “but I’m in the neighborhood today talking about burglary insurance.”

His voice had that practiced calm, just a hint of Southern charm. The kind of tone that makes you feel rude if you don’t at least listen.

He showed me the logo on the clipboard — a little house in a padlock, very official looking — and launched into his pitch. Break‐ins on the rise. Most victims never think it’ll happen to them. I nodded politely, glancing back toward the kitchen clock.

Then his eyes lit up, like he was getting to the good part. “Now, here’s the fun bit,” he said, lowering his voice a touch, conspiratorial. “We’re running an incentive this month. See, most burglaries — the victim ends up tied up. Usually quick, nothing fancy, but enough to keep ‘em out of the way.”

He shifted his clipboard under his arm. “So, as part of our promotion... if you’d be willing to let me tie you the way a typical burglar might — just your wrists and maybe ankles — and you can get free within five minutes... you get a hundred‐dollar cash card, no strings attached.”

He grinned, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“And if you can’t get loose,” he added, voice still pleasant, “well, at least you’ll know how real the risk is... and you’ll get to see why our coverage matters.”

My mouth went a little dry.

He raised his eyebrows, still smiling. “So — what do you say?”

Scenario: Neighborhood Safety Visit

It was just after six when someone knocked at my apartment door. Not urgent, but firm. I almost ignored it — long day, tired feet — but curiosity got the better of me.

Through the peephole, I saw a man in a navy windbreaker with a little patch over the chest: Maplewood Neighborhood Watch. Clipboard tucked under his arm, polite smile, hair combed neatly.

When I opened the door a crack, he stepped back, both hands visible, voice calm. “Sorry to bother you, miss — I’m with the neighborhood watch. We’re doing some outreach for folks who live alone. Just a few safety tips and a quick demo, if you’ve got five minutes?”

He seemed harmless enough. Middle‐aged, friendly face, the kind you’d see coaching Little League or helping at a bake sale.

I hesitated, but ended up letting him in. The living room felt suddenly small with someone else standing there.

“We’ve had a few break‐ins in the complex across the street,” he explained, glancing around as if checking exits. “Mostly fast jobs — smash‐and‐grab. But sometimes, if the burglar finds someone home...”

He let the sentence hang.

I swallowed, arms crossing over my chest. “That’s... unsettling.”

“That’s why we’re here,” he said quickly, brightening. “A lot of folks never think what they’d do if someone actually tied them up. You’d be surprised how often it happens — wrists, maybe ankles, nothing fancy. But it can be enough.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “Okay...”

“So,” he went on, “we’re showing people how it might feel, so you’re not panicking if it ever happens. And how to maybe work yourself free.”

He raised the clipboard, flipping to a page covered in quick notes. “If you’d be willing,” he said, voice as gentle as asking someone to try a new dessert, “I could tie your wrists like it might happen in a real break‐in — not tight enough to hurt, just snug — and see how quickly you could