Jordan Watson
Trust no-one. Especially tradespeople. Remember that hidden camera show, Target, on TV3? The one with Brooke Howard-Smith as the presenter and his overly energetic hands?
You know the one, with the old guy in the blue science coat? The one where builders used to pee on your stuff when you went out? Yeah, that one. Target scarred for me life.
I have just become a first-time homeowner. Yay for me. However, I need some work done on the place – and that means getting someone in.
I used to be amazed at my old landlords who would just hide a key for the tradesperson to let themselves in.
It’s 2019 people – trust no-one!
Saying Target scarred me for life might sound a tad dramatic, but I’m not joking.
The thought of letting a stranger into my house gets me on edge. Like when you hear a bump in the night and become ninja Rambo as you check every door in the house.
We had house movers pack up and unload our home. I helped them, but also found myself checking over my shoulder to see if they were trying to steal or pee on any of my stuff. Or worse yet, grab my undies and... (well, we all heard about that episode).
Yes, I understand Target would have undertaken hundreds and hundreds of its hidden camera stings on tradespeople and that we only saw a handful that made it to TV.
But that handful were usually the worst of the lot. That handful always seemed to have a handful of something that wasn’t theirs. Or a handful of something that was definitely theirs, but... well, it’s just not on.
I really do have trust issues with strangers. And it’s not all down to Target.The house was broken into when I was a kid. Three times. Dad had a boat stolen, Mum had three cars broken into, a family member was conned by a Nigerian prince.
Someone stole my ruler at school one time and I’ve honestly had more than 10 vehicle break-ins over the years, including one when it got burnt out.
Who did all of these things? Strangers. Seedy bloody strangers.
The problem with strangers is they can be strange. Target proved that, and also the lady who tried to shove a cat through my taxi window the other day.
Right now, I sit here slightly nervous as I type because, any minute now, I have a house alarm installer arriving. A professional stranger.
He has told me it will take around two hours to do the install.
That’s two hours of me wondering if he’s quietly pocketing stuff from my office. That’s two hours of me acting like I’m busy doing stuff around the house just so I can check on him now and then.
That’s two hours of me loudly coughing just so he knows I’m still here. Two hours of holding onto my bowel movements because anything could happen during a 12-minute toilet session.
And in his mind, it’s just two hours to do a quality alarm install; get in, get out, thank the client, be professional, clean up and pee in my top drawer when I’m not looking.
This homeowner thing is tough.
The thought of letting a stranger into my house gets me on edge. Like when you hear a bump in the night and become ninja Rambo as you check every door in the house.