Door

I live in an apartment building on the edge of Elizabeth Bay. I'm on the border between the seedy bit and the fabulous bit (and yes, if you must, it's another crushingly obvious metaphor for my life. stop it.). The building was at some point a hotel, and part of still functions as serviced apartments so we get people who live here (like me) and people who are just passing through for a week or a month.

Sometimes when I come home, there's someone sitting on the step. Or someone's buzzing someone on the intercom and they try to slipstream in behind me as I go in. My reserves of politeness have worn away a long time ago and I just block them "do you live here?", I ask.

Sometimes the response is "I'm waiting for my friend, (s)he lives here". This is patently ridiculous, and if I'm in a good mood and feeling forceful and dynamic I'll point it out to them. "Your friend, who hasn't responded to your buzzing him, isn't around. What exactly are you going to do if I let you into the building? Wait in the stairwell?"