Jennifer O’Connell - ‘Who in their right mind still answers the doorbell?’
Jennifer O’Connell - ‘Who in their right mind still answers the doorbell?’
Of course she doesn’t answer the doorbell, my slightly-younger friend explained, appalled, as though I’d just suggested she skydive naked from the Spire, eat something containing actual gluten, or pick up an actual landline and telephone someone.
What kind of person just turns up at your door without texting first to say they’re outside, she demanded. Er, me?
I’ve gotten used to this: the times when you look away for a moment and a generational gap that was barely noticeable mere seconds before has become a yawning chasm, like when someone asks you to “venmo” them your half of the bill or says they have “JOMO” and you have to ask for a translation. (“Peer-to-peer payments app” and “Joy Of Missing Out”.)
A generation ago, a ringing doorbell was not quite a cause for celebration, but it at least triggered one of those rare, beautiful moments when everyone in the house leaped into action, in perfect, wordless unison. Someone raced to throw the dirty plates into the sink; someone else hid the wine bottle or the stray socks, while someone else would walk calmly, deliberately to the door. A generation before that, there were entire rooms in houses – good rooms – whose sole purpose was to await the ringing of the doorbell and the unexpected arrival of company. There were good biscuits. Good teapots. There was sherry – a drink invented solely and exclusively for offering to company.
Just as houses are now being built without fireplaces, some modern doors have no doorbells at all
These days, when the doorbell rings, families sit stock still, eyeballing one another in mute dread, and the sure and certain knowledge that no good can possibly come from the unexpected peal of a doorbell in a silent house.