Tell them off!

Flinging the door wide open, you stare into the hallway with all the fury you can summon in **** for the premature demise of your slumber. "NO," you growl angrily, "I'm NOT going to buy your shit. I'm NOT going to your church. I don't fucking care about educating unborn whale babies, or whatever the fuck your charity is. GO THE FUCK AWAY, I'M GOING BACK TO SLEEP."

Standing impassively in front of your door, clutching a briefcase, is a professionally-dressed man in an expensive-looking suit. His only response to your angry outburst is to clear his throat, sigh, and ask a question.

"Are you Noah Rossum?"