are you my robber

We get a lot of salesmen at our place wanting to know if we'll buy stuff, but the other night was a little bit different. This time, a dude came to our door wanting to know if a “big black guy” lives at our apartment.

“Uhhh…no,” Chelsea looked up at me, “But a big white guy does.”

He explained that he owned a marijuana dispensary down the street and someone had inexplicably given him the street address of our complex, without specifying an apartment number, and then robbed his shop. “Nope…wrong place,” I said. “Try my neighbor.”

He then went around knocking on all the other apartment doors. “Are you my robber? Are you my robber?”

I think it's about time for us to move.