It’s 7:45 a.m. on a Saturday, and Betty White’s look-a-like is knocking on my door.BANG! BANG! BANG! “I’m at your front door,” she hollers.No way in hell, I think. I’m in my bedroom — naked — doing what naked people do on Saturday mornings: sleep.”Hello,” she croons once more. “I see your car. You’re home!” This woman has brass balls.I’m opening the door five minutes later and meeting a new face. I’ve been in this house three years, and this neighbor wants to meet me all of the sudden.I didn’t catch her name, as I was still pie-eyed from the night before. It was probably in the realm of Bertha or Peter-Ann.”Oh, hello!” Bertha or Peter-Ann said to me. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I didn’t know if anyone was home, so I thought I’d wait and knock a few more times. I saw your car.” You jerk.”Yes ma’am,” I said smiling. “No problem. What can I do for you?””Well, you see, me and my husband live across the street. We’ll be going on a week vacation” (The destination was either Branson or Ponchatoula). “We just need someone to pick up our newspaper and throw it on the back porch.””No problem,” I agreed. Who can deny a Betty White look-a-like?”Yeah, we would get our son-in-law to do it, but he’s with his family. He might come around now and then, but I thought I’d ask you. So, just pick up my newspaper, and if you see anything strange, call the cops.”This lady could not stop talking. I don’t know if it was my weird attire. Maybe I still smelled like the bar. She was more nervous than a newly caught cricket.”You know some people back there got cleaned out? They were gone one afternoon. They came back, and they got robbed. So, if you see anything strange, just take out your gun and start shooting.”It’s 7:53 a.m. on a Saturday, and I’m not hungover anymore. This lady wants me to go on a stakeout.This is the most confusing conversation I’ve ever had. I would rather chat with a drunk girl at Reggie’s. This old neighbor, whom I’ve never met, wants me to watch her house and grab her paper.This isn’t the confusing part. Hell, I’ll do that for most of my neighbors.At the same time, she doesn’t give me a key, money for groceries or tell me where the toilet paper is. She assumes I own a gun and wants me to shoot anyone trespassing. It’s at this part I have a myriad questions, but I can’t ask this old lady any of them. She’s fixing to go to Branson or Ponchatoula. And I can’t say no. I’ve already agreed in principle to picking up her newspaper. The old lady was good. I have to sit in my living room now with my blinds open all the time with a pair of binoculars to scope out anything that doesn’t match the green of her grass.I have to go buy a gun, bullets, caffeine pills and a leather jacket. I meet this lady once, and I’m already $500 in the hole.I have so many questions, but she’s gone. I’m sitting here like Danny Glover in “Lethal Weapon 2,” waiting for those crooked gangsters to come.Is this what it’s like to be an adult? Is this the world I’m entering when graduating? Old people putting a burden on me, wanting me to protect their newly cut grass? This can’t happen every weekend. Neighbors don’t all of the sudden know you’re fixing to graduate college and expect you to shoot a man for trespassing. If this is normal, I’m already getting too old for this.Matthew Sigur is a 22-year-old mass communication senior from West Monroe. Follow him on Twitter @TDR_msigur.—–Contact Matthew Sigur at [email protected]