Because I'm always eager to fill up the yawning void of existential dread with a new gadget, I got one of those video doorbells. The picture is crisp and clear. My doorbell broadcasts a better image than CBS circa 2001. At night it shows stars; it's like I bolted the Hubble to my house.
I can't wait to use it with a visitor, but no one's shown up yet. For once in my life, I actually want someone coming around the house to sell me magazines so I can get rid of them remotely, from my phone, wherever I am.
Here's how I imagine the interaction will proceed:
Bothersome person presses bell.
Me: "Hello, sorry, I can't come to the door."
BP: "OK, thank you." Leaves.
Here's how I fear it will work out. The doorbell rings and goes to my phone while I'm in line at a fast-food drive-through.
Bothersome person: "Hello, I'm an earnest young person whose idealism has not yet been eroded by the indifference of the world. I want you to sign a piece of paper to encourage someone to do something."