Seven (Or Is It Eight?) Kinds Of Stupid

I own my own home. Many of my neighbours rent subsidized housing from a government agency. When repairs are needed, a contractor will come to their house. Unfortunately, these contractors are not known for showing the same respect to tenants in social housing that they would to a paying customer.  

I have been out cycling. I wheel the bike into my house and turn round to close the door behind me. I see a man is walking through my hallway with a T-shirt with logos of a contractor and the housing agency. He didn’t ring the doorbell or knock. He is now three metres into my house.

Me: “Can I help you?”

I march up to him and invade his personal space.

Contractor: “Is this number eight?”

I move even closer to him and he steps back.

Me: “No, this is number seven. What do you want?”

I’m still walking forward; he’s walking backward.

Contractor: “I’m here to fix a shower.”

Me: “No, you aren’t. Get out.”

He nearly trips and falls on the doorstep.

Me: “Look at that number sign on my front door. What does it say? Seven!”

Contractor: “Where is eight?”

Me: “Over there. You don’t just walk into somebody’s house like that.”

He looks confused. We are now in my front yard, three metres from the gate to the sidewalk. He has stopped moving.

Me: “I told you to get off my property, so get moving.”

Contractor: “I knocked! Is this Second Street?”

Me: “No, you didn’t, and this is First Street. Second Street is over there where the sign is.”

He hasn’t moved. I invade his space again and GENTLY push him towards my gate.

Me: “Listen, mate, your attitude stinks. You’ve got the wrong street. You have the wrong house number. I have a big, black seven on my door, which is yellow. You never just walk into somebody’s house like that; you ring the doorbell. If you needed directions, all you had to do was to ask.”

I shot a picture of the license plate on his van so he can be identified when I complain about him.