this post was submitted on 04 Oct 2023
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I grew up next to an RAF base in the UK, it had areas forbidden to civvies but also several large areas where the force staff with families would live. These areas were an absolute knock-door-run goldmine, long rows of houses with doors for knocking.
We were, undisputably, little shits. Knock-door-run was the least of the problems we caused for the 'toy police' (as we called the military police as they had no powers of arrest over civvies). We'd all line up in a row, knock 10 doors at once then leg it. You did NOT want to be the clumsy-footed teen knocking on the door at the back of the row! I had no idea we were breakin' the lawwwww
You call it knock-door-run? What a dumb thing to call it. Brits always have weird names for things. In Canada we call it Nicky-nicky-nine-doors. Like normal people.
Haha. Now I think about it, it's quite an unimaginative name. That's how we rolled in our village, our favourite hangout spot was an old hole in the ground in the woods, surrounded by trees with a rope swing... affectionately known as 'The Crater'.
It's that sort of lack of imagination & aspiration that made me determined to leave!
Ding-dong-ditch here in the US as we typically rang the doorbell instead of knocking, but same concept.