"It's a doormat? I think I can install it myself."

Completely uninterested in the slim, almost boyish little courier, Johnny Dope says, "nah, I can install it myself." He grabs the plastic-wrapped doormat from the courier chick and tears at the plastic with his fingers, slowly ripping some ineffective holes in the thick shipping wrap.

"Sir, if you want to sign for it, I'll go and leave you to it." She reaches into her back pocket, and pulls out a digital pad, for his signature. Then, thinking of her customer service rating, her delivery script, all of it, she says, "and sir, I can cut that packaging wrap off if you like." She pulls out a utility knife from her shorts' side pocket.

"I got it, you can go, dude," he says to Melli, dismissively, finishing his manly struggle with the plastic wrap.

"I'm required to get your signature, sir, before going. I hope you are satisfied with this delivery." She tries her best to be friendly but not attractive, but cute but not pretty, as advised by the company, but Johnny ignores it all.

Then, finally, he tosses the shredded remains of the packaging behind him, and drops the unassuming doormat on the floor in front of him. He steps out of the apartment, and onto the doormat, and at once feels its power, and the power of the God Domain flowing through him and the apartment behind him.

"Holy shit, dude," he says to the courier, who has yet to know the true power of the doormat she just delivered, and who assumes this is a delivery just like her last 387 and that this man is just high on weed, rather than on a freshly acquired celestial dominion. "Ho...ly...shit. Yeah, lemme sign for that, so you can fuck off. I gotta invite some real women over."

He scrawls his signature on the digipad, and sends the little courier woman away, ready for a real woman. It's nearing 1pm, too, so he could also just wait for his customers to come to his door.