Rarely. And when it does, it isn’t for us.
We live in a block of flats and when meter guys or delivery peeps want access to another flat, they always seem to ring our flat first. Douchebags.
And here is the worst part: Our door phone thingie doesn’t work. So when they ring, I have to go to the front door. Which I do, because what if… WHAT IF… it is actually for me? Like, a surprise delivery or something. I don’t want to send something like that away. But every time I have to put on fucking pants and answer the door and it isn’t for me early on a Saturday morning, I feel compelled to work on completing my plans for utter global annihilation.