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While you're waiting enjoy the story "Nigger Knocks" by Rion A. Scott

Fiction

The knock, knock joke, much like the negro spiritual began as a means of clandestine communication, a way for slaves to pass information to each other beneath the radar of hostile whites. For instance, the following joke, or a version of it, was often told by slaves in the upper Southern states in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries: ‘Knock, knock’ ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Isaiah.’ ‘Isaiah who?’ ‘Isaiah whole lot of niggers tryna escape over the hills, boss. They thin’ you cain’t see they black asses flyin’ through the night, but you can sees they eyes.’ This craftily designed joke is packed with information, telling a runaway slave who to rendezvous with (Isaiah, a codename no doubt); the path to freedom (over the hills); how fast to travel (fly, boy, fly); when to leave (at night); even the punishment for getting caught (a seizure of the eyes). Slaves made sure to tell the jokes to their owners while their comrades were within earshot. There was a certain excitement in listening to the sweet laughter of a slaveholder, for the slave knew that his owner was chuckling at his own downfall.    

—Hiram Skylark Rollicks

Signifyn’ Revolt: Black Rebellion in the Antebellum South   

My brain had liquefied for the night. That’s what a day at work does for you. Long, short—it makes no difference. Pop the top on any weekday evening and in there you will find a slushee. That’s what work, at least my job, does to you. There I was, all zombified in that purgatory where rational thought and loopy subconscious visions mingled. A slack-jawed demon. Probably drooling. The glow of the nightly newscast projecting across my face. 

            At first I didn’t recognize the shrill buzz of the doorbell. It buzzed loudly, louder than I remembered it being, as if in a dream I was having and then a second buzz forced me to jump from my couch, landing on my feet then toppling to the floor like I had the legs of a scarecrow. Disoriented, I looked about trying to place everything: the disheveled living room with clothes and newspapers lying about, the piercing buzz, the darkness. My head felt detached from my body as if floating in a peaceful ocean. For a brief moment I existed outside of time, then I groped for the concept.          

            There was another irritating buzz coming from the front door. I stumbled through the living room to the entrance and peered through the peephole. I saw nothing and as soon as I walked to the bathroom the buzz sounded again, long and loud like someone leaning on the button. After I was finished, I returned to the foyer and looked out the window. There was no one outside my door.

            I sat on the couch and rested my clearing head on the pillow and the door buzzed again and again. I felt my nerves jangling. Racing to the door, I snatched it open and there was no one outside. Nothing.