My kitchen and bathroom have been re-tiled by a tradesman who was recommended by a neighbour. He’s a tall, good-looking Polish man and has done an impeccable job; the recommendation was valid. I pay him and go to work. An hour later I emerge from the tube and my phone beeps with a text message.
It’s Maciek, the guy I’ve just paid. There’s clearly a problem with either the payment or my flat, and I’m anxious as I open the message.
“I think you’re very attractive and was wondering if you would like to go for a drink sometime?”
I smile at the pleasant surprise – there’s nothing wrong with my flat and my attraction to Maciek is mutual. I happily agree to a date and three days later we meet for a drink. We have a pleasant evening together, but I decide I don’t want to see him again.
That date was in 2007.
Maciek and I didn’t go out again but he’s continued to contact me every three months … for the past SIX YEARS. His last message was (verbatim) “Simone, let me know if I should bugger off for good and delete your phone number as I don’t want to be charged with stalking 🙂” I didn’t reply and haven’t heard from him since.
Wednesday 31st July. It’s my final day at work and I open an email from the estate agent dealing with leasing my flat.
“Hi Simone – I visited your flat last Tuesday with Maciek (MW Contracted Building) who said he’s done some tiling and other work for you before. He quoted £1,300 for painting. I also asked him to include replacement of silicone in the kitchen and bathroom. Please let me know if you would like to go ahead.”
The blood drains from my face as three things simultaneously dawn on me.
- This is the Maciek who I went out with six years ago who still contacts me
- He was IN my flat last Tuesday
- When he was in my flat there was a hot pink vibrator perched barefaced in the middle of my bed
Shock turns to amusement. I smile as I email the estate agent asking them to get a second quote. I don’t want him coming again (no pun intended).
Thursday 1st August, 6pm (the day after the email from the estate agent and 10 days since Maciek was in my home). I exit my flat to go to a comedy gig in Battersea. When I get to the end of the street a car pulls over and the driver winds down his window. I walk over to him as he clearly wants directions.
In the seconds that I’m talking to this stranger, a van drives past and slows down. I glance at the licence place. It’s Maciek’s van. Ugh. Between seeing the vibrator on my bed and me leaning over to talk to a guy in a car, I can’t imagine Maciek’s opinion of me is improving. I just hope my luck soon does.