Kevin Page: Trick or treat greet is no mean feat

Giving chocolate to cherubic trick or treaters would only lead to more and more visits as word got out, writes Kevin Page. Photo / Thinkstock

In our house a knock at the door is usually greeted with enthusiasm.

I say usually because I work from home and welcome any people contact I can get. Therefore, a visitor is an ideal opportunity for me to do what I do best and talk till I'm blue in the face.

Many are the salesmen who've come to my door and walked away, shaking their head half an hour later wondering what's just hit them.

Of course there are some aggressive salesmen. I'm no different to anyone in that I don't agree with that.

One day, if I suffer a ghastly voice box accident and become less confident in my ability to deal with any situation I'll get one of those stickers that advises salesmen not to knock. But at the moment I give them all a fair go.

I figure if they are brave enough to come a-knocking (particularly when George the dog is doing his best impression of a rabid beast slavering at the thought of a bite of juicy salesman) they deserve a response.

Of course my enthusiasm for the challenge is not accepted by all members of the household.

Mrs P and Boomerang Child for instance are more likely to find the peace of the rear garden and a glass of red wine more appealing than a chat with a door-knocker.

My beloved is of the opinion her home is her castle and apart from people she knows she'd rather not have to front door-knockers. There's also the fact that when she gets home she likes a bit of peace and quiet.

With that in mind I was a little surprised on Halloween when a large packet of chocolate treats appeared in a bowl by our drawbridge.

It was, I said, a recipe for disaster. Well, maybe not a disaster but certainly a busy night.

Adult salesmen I can handle.

Basically you can be blunt and/or firm with adults. You can pretend you speak a different language, do a crazy dance, say nothing and just stare (try it; it's a hoot - they leave eventually) but kids are different. They don't get the subtleties of what you are trying to do and you feel like an absolute plonker if/when you hurt their feelings.

So giving chocolate to cherubic trick or treaters would only lead to more and more visits as word got out, I said.

But Mrs P was having none of it as she drifted into a recollection of magical, fun times with the littlies of her own in days gone by. I can't swear to it but I think I saw a bluebird land on her shoulder and Bambi eating out of her hand as she smiled sweetly.

I know I heard the words "old grump" as she placed the bowl beside me.

Anyway. So there I am watching telly and there's a knock at the door. I open it to be greeted by Dracula, a bumble bee, an angel and Batman.

I give them all a treat, say how great they look and wave to mum, standing sensibly 10 metres away, and send them on their way.

My backside has barely pressed the cushion foam back down when I hear the yell up the street from one of the little cherubs outside: "They've got lollies!".

From then on it's carnage.

No sooner have I sat down than I'm up again as more and more kids arrive.

The door-knocking is now more or less constant.

More angels. Witches. Fairies. Spiderman. They just keep coming.

A pirate gratefully accepts his little treat and gleefully tells me that now he has to trick me.

I'm a little stunned by this.

"Isn't it supposed to be trick or treat?," I ask nervously. He looks at me smiling. "Yep. I'm gonna do a trick on you".

I try again.

"I thought if I gave you a treat you wouldn't do a trick," I say, contemplating legal action for breach of contract.

"Yep," he says again obviously wondering what the hell I'm on about.

I look to mum who laughs and waves, obviously also completely oblivious to the fact that its trick OR treat not trick AND treat.

Luckily, he goes on his way and I watch him all the way down the drive. I'm still not sure if my letterbox is going to explode suddenly.

After a while the treats are long gone and now I am forced to endure the crushed looks of the angels, witches, fairies, Batman, Spiderman and mums as I have to explain. One kid cries. I've got nothing on me except some loose change.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it stops and I wearily trudge through the castle to find Mrs P and the Boomerang Child relaxing out the back with a glass of red.

"I need a coffee," I moan, to which Mrs P says we are out of milk. I'll need to go and get some.

"Sure," I say. "Don't suppose you've got $5 on you. I seem to be out of cash."

Kevin Page has been a journalist for 34 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.