Go ahead, knock on my door at 2:30 pm with that rhythm as if you know me (da da, da da da, DA DA).
As loud as you possibly can.
Also, stand on my porch yelling, “miss, MISS?”.
Then by all means, please knock again.
Oh wait, no? A knock won’t do, I see you’re using the end of your fist to beat out that rhythm (da da, da da da, DA DA).
By this point all 3 of my sleeping boys are crying and I promise you, if I come to the door, it won’t be to buy your product.
Run home little dude. RUN.