Yesterday morning, at about 11a.m. the doorbell rang. Well, more of a buzz, really. One long, persistent buzz.
Assuming it was a delivery, I pressed the door release button, and opened our door to the hall.
The front door opened, and in stepped a well dressed woman in her mid-forties. She had a little too much eye makeup on, and seemed slightly confused, perhaps unsteady on her feet.
"Er, can I help you?" I asked.
"Is ok," she replied in a strong Eastern European accent. "I come to work here." She was clearly expecting me to let her into our flat. Instead, I barred her entrance, and said, quite politely,
"Who are you?"
"No, I come here to work," she replied.
"I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are, and I'm not going to let you into our house. Can you please leave."
Once I had repeated this statement a couple of times, she left. It was all a bit odd.
Then it got even more odd.
About ten minutes later, the door goes again. This time I opt for the entryphone. Through the handset came the same voice.
"Please, I need to come in. I need to see your children."
"I don't know who you are, and I'm certainly not letting you in to see my children."
"But I must. I need to see them."
"I don't know who you are."
"I am Yelena(?) and I must see your children. Then you will understand."
"I don't even have children." This will surely throw her off. I was beginning to wonder if there was a case of the wrong house, because it's unlikely that she could have confused me with someone else.
Her reply chilled me.
"Yes, you have daughter."
Now I felt like we were being watched, and I was beginning to feel quite angry.
"Now look, I don't know who you are, now will you please go away."
"Ok, ok, sorry."
Another ten minutes go by before the same persistent buzz fill the flat. This time there was a new angle.
"Hello, please I just need to get my handbag, is all Please let me in."
I opened the inner door so that I could see the hall. She certainly had not left her handbag by the door. I went back to the entryphone, resisting the temptation to boom "None shall pass!"
Instead I stuck calmly to the facts.
"Your handbag isn't here."
"Yes. Please, I must get my handbag."
"Well, it's not in the hall," I insisted.
"No, I left it in your house. In one of the rooms. Please can I come and get it."
Now I was beginning to think that she must be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, which made the whole 'daughter' business even more unnerving.
"You haven't been in my house."
"Yes, yes, last night. And I left my handbag. please can I come in and get it. Please, just open the door."
I was starting to wonder if she was going to propose huffing and puffing and blowing my house down, but I felt safe in the knowledge that our house is brick-built, a huff and puff retardant material.
I decided to try a different tack.
"It's clear there's been some kind of misunderstanding, so why don't I just call the Police and get them to send an officer around. Then we can work all of this out."
"Ok, yes." came the reply.
"Great. I'll go and phone them now. Will you just wait there until they come?
"Yes, yes. I wait here."
I went and called the Police. I told them what had happened, and they sent a car round. Then I phoned R's school and told the head teacher what had happened. I wasn't sure what the purpose of this call was, except to make me feel a little better knowing that nothing untoward was happening at the school.
The next time the door went, it was the Police.
"We've been up and down the road a couple of times, and there's no sign of her." The WPC explained. "She was probably just trying to get in for a burglary."
I told them how unsettled I was about the reference to my daughter, and the WPC pointed out that R's very sparkly pink bicycle is in the hall, so the woman would have clocked that when I opened the door on the first occasion.
I felt greatly relieved, especially when the Police said that they had posted a description of the woman, and that they would be looking out for her.
After they had left, I Pieced together what had happened, and reached a few conclusions.
The visitor is scouting out the area for vulnerable people. She sees my platform lift, and tries the door. When I buzz her in, she tries to brazen her way. Many disabled people have carers who visit them regularly. As they will quite often be from an agency, it's possible that the client may not know the carer who visits, and they may just let her in. I didn't.
But because I had opened the outer door, she probably thought that I'd let her in if she persisted. The next time, she had the child/daughter angle, because of the bike she had seen. Perhaps I might take her for a nanny or something?
When this approach didn't work, and seeing as I was still being quite polite, she decided that she'd give it one more go. As soon as I mentioned calling the law, she made a quick exit.
What annoys me most is that she took me to be vulnerable. At six foot three, I'm not used to people trying to intimidate me on my own doorstep. It also annoys me that she made me worry about R, and start thinking about what I would be able to do to protect her if we were approached in the street on the way back from school. With my increased upper body strength from pushing the chair all day, I reckon I could deliver a pretty hefty blow, should I need to, but if I were to come out of my wheelchair, I'd be useless, short of shouting, "Come back! I'll Bite yer legs off!"
And that makes me feel vulnerable, after all.
Assuming it was a delivery, I pressed the door release button, and opened our door to the hall.
The front door opened, and in stepped a well dressed woman in her mid-forties. She had a little too much eye makeup on, and seemed slightly confused, perhaps unsteady on her feet.
"Er, can I help you?" I asked.
"Is ok," she replied in a strong Eastern European accent. "I come to work here." She was clearly expecting me to let her into our flat. Instead, I barred her entrance, and said, quite politely,
"Who are you?"
"No, I come here to work," she replied.
"I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are, and I'm not going to let you into our house. Can you please leave."
Once I had repeated this statement a couple of times, she left. It was all a bit odd.
Then it got even more odd.
About ten minutes later, the door goes again. This time I opt for the entryphone. Through the handset came the same voice.
"Please, I need to come in. I need to see your children."
"I don't know who you are, and I'm certainly not letting you in to see my children."
"But I must. I need to see them."
"I don't know who you are."
"I am Yelena(?) and I must see your children. Then you will understand."
"I don't even have children." This will surely throw her off. I was beginning to wonder if there was a case of the wrong house, because it's unlikely that she could have confused me with someone else.
Her reply chilled me.
"Yes, you have daughter."
Now I felt like we were being watched, and I was beginning to feel quite angry.
"Now look, I don't know who you are, now will you please go away."
"Ok, ok, sorry."
Another ten minutes go by before the same persistent buzz fill the flat. This time there was a new angle.
"Hello, please I just need to get my handbag, is all Please let me in."
I opened the inner door so that I could see the hall. She certainly had not left her handbag by the door. I went back to the entryphone, resisting the temptation to boom "None shall pass!"
Instead I stuck calmly to the facts.
"Your handbag isn't here."
"Yes. Please, I must get my handbag."
"Well, it's not in the hall," I insisted.
"No, I left it in your house. In one of the rooms. Please can I come and get it."
Now I was beginning to think that she must be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, which made the whole 'daughter' business even more unnerving.
"You haven't been in my house."
"Yes, yes, last night. And I left my handbag. please can I come in and get it. Please, just open the door."
I was starting to wonder if she was going to propose huffing and puffing and blowing my house down, but I felt safe in the knowledge that our house is brick-built, a huff and puff retardant material.
I decided to try a different tack.
"It's clear there's been some kind of misunderstanding, so why don't I just call the Police and get them to send an officer around. Then we can work all of this out."
"Ok, yes." came the reply.
"Great. I'll go and phone them now. Will you just wait there until they come?
"Yes, yes. I wait here."
I went and called the Police. I told them what had happened, and they sent a car round. Then I phoned R's school and told the head teacher what had happened. I wasn't sure what the purpose of this call was, except to make me feel a little better knowing that nothing untoward was happening at the school.
The next time the door went, it was the Police.
"We've been up and down the road a couple of times, and there's no sign of her." The WPC explained. "She was probably just trying to get in for a burglary."
I told them how unsettled I was about the reference to my daughter, and the WPC pointed out that R's very sparkly pink bicycle is in the hall, so the woman would have clocked that when I opened the door on the first occasion.
I felt greatly relieved, especially when the Police said that they had posted a description of the woman, and that they would be looking out for her.
After they had left, I Pieced together what had happened, and reached a few conclusions.
The visitor is scouting out the area for vulnerable people. She sees my platform lift, and tries the door. When I buzz her in, she tries to brazen her way. Many disabled people have carers who visit them regularly. As they will quite often be from an agency, it's possible that the client may not know the carer who visits, and they may just let her in. I didn't.
But because I had opened the outer door, she probably thought that I'd let her in if she persisted. The next time, she had the child/daughter angle, because of the bike she had seen. Perhaps I might take her for a nanny or something?
When this approach didn't work, and seeing as I was still being quite polite, she decided that she'd give it one more go. As soon as I mentioned calling the law, she made a quick exit.
What annoys me most is that she took me to be vulnerable. At six foot three, I'm not used to people trying to intimidate me on my own doorstep. It also annoys me that she made me worry about R, and start thinking about what I would be able to do to protect her if we were approached in the street on the way back from school. With my increased upper body strength from pushing the chair all day, I reckon I could deliver a pretty hefty blow, should I need to, but if I were to come out of my wheelchair, I'd be useless, short of shouting, "Come back! I'll Bite yer legs off!"
And that makes me feel vulnerable, after all.
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