The Idiot Advice Service

It seems that like a moth to a bulb our front door has begun to attract idiots. Or I’m increasingly intolerant.


During the afternoon on Tuesday when I was boring myself senseless by writing an assessment of someone’s risk of reoffending the doorbell rang.


On opening it I found a man/idiot.


IDIOT: “Simon Green wants you to call him”


ME: “Does he? Are you sure? I’ve no idea who he is”.


IDIOT: “He wants you to call him about the door”


ME: “What door? Are you sure you’ve got the right address”


IDIOT: “The door in your house”.


ME: “This house is full of doors, you’re really going to need to narrow it down a bit. Are you sure you don’t want 129 Rugby Road, they’re having building work done”.
 

IDIOT: “The doors we fitted”


ME: “Our builders fitted all of our doors”


IDIOT: “The folding doors at the back”


ME: (in the most patronising tone any human is yet to achieve) “Oh, so you’re from the company that fitted the bi-fold doors”.


IDIOT; (Bristling slightly) “Yes. We’re working across the road and he said I should pop over”


I should explain that Marianna dealt with every aspect of buying those doors and is now dealing with negotiating a settlement given the dozens of flaws they had. To her someone beginning with “Simon Green wants you to call him” rather than “Hello” might have been the beginning of a conversation rather than a riddle.


On Thursday a courier called with some legal papers for me but he didn’t immediately declare that this was his role in life. It was only just after eight and I had recently returned from the gym. The doorbell rang and when I answered it I found a man poking a finger into the passenger tyre of our car.


IDIOT: “That tyres not legal” he called over.


ME: “What?” (I genuinely couldn’t fully hear him but what I really wanted to say was ‘Who are you?’)


IDIOT: “It’s not legal. You’d be in trouble if the police saw it” said the fat, bald man now walking back towards me. I noticed the parcel in his hand and the white van behind him.


ME: “You’re very fat. You’d be in trouble if a cardiologist saw you” is not what I said but it was remarkable how quickly this man had annoyed me. What I said was “Oh”, pulled a face which said “And your point is??” and took the parcel from him.


IDIOT: “None of my business mate, just sayin”. And he walked off (backwards), hands raised, palms up in surrender.

Advice like this must be a service he offers, perhaps around town.


IDIOT: “Your ears are too big for that hairstyle, mate” he tells the man taking his order in McDonalds.


IDIOT: “Your arse is too big for that skirt, love” he tells the teller at the bank.


IDIOT: “You’ll never make it as a professional artist. If someone with any taste saw that you'd be in trouble” he tells his five year old, handing back their collage; “None of my business son, just sayin”