One of my all-time favorite scenes from Friends is at the beginning of “The One With Rachel’s Sister” when Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Joey, Monica and Chandler are assembled in Monica and Chandler’s apartment and they’re surprised when someone knocks on the door. They all react wordlessly with perplexed expressions. Phoebe takes a quick roll, pointing to everyone, including herself, to make sure nobody is missing. Chandler looks a little wary as he answers the door.
I expected there to be so much more door knocking in my New York life. I expected to perfect the sitcom glance through the peephole and I totally expected to get the chance to answer the door like a character in a drama—peering hopefully through the peephole, hesitating with my hand on the door knob, taking a deep breath before opening the door to reveal . . . the person everyone in the audience expected to be standing out in the darkly lit hallway.
The front doorbell and buzzer isn’t nearly as good a plot device, I know.
But it’s how we answer the door in real life. No surprises. I have a stairwell climb to prepare for even unexpected guests and then I beat them to the door, sticking my head out before they make it to the top of the stairs, like I’m impatient. It’s sort of like opening a gift and preparing myself to look thrilled even if I hate it. Like, “Oh! It’s . . . you. Just like on the intercom. Come on in.”
I always start to feel like this on Sunday evenings, like I’m anticipating something without knowing what. I guess it’s because the weekend is over and I can’t helping wondering, “wait, that’s it? No cliff-hanger? No twist? There’s gotta be a twist. Give me something to get me through the next week!”
Maybe that’s why they run Talk Sex with Sue Johanson every Sunday night.
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