That didn't feel good

After dinner with my friend Nancy and her husband Paul, I got home to find a young man in the vestibule, by our mailboxes. He was reading the names on our boxes and trying the locked doors that lead to either the stairwell or the elevator. He told me something about trouble with his washer and dryer and that he wants to use ours. He was clearly lying, and that's OK. It's cold tonight and I suspect he was just trying to get warm. I didn't engage him, just nodded a lot and made my way to the elevator. 

He seemed to be trying to open one of the mailboxes. I tapped on the glass door and told him to stop it. He said, "I have three friends in this building!" Through the door I told him to call his friends and have them let him in, or leave. He said something I didn't understand and then returned to pulling on the locked door.

I called the police. I didn't want to. Homeless people need to be somewhere and on this cold night, I didn't mind him being in our vestibule. I didn't like him trying the mailboxes and front door, though.

Two police cars arrived and a pair of officers questioned him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious he was trying to convince them he belonged here. I watched him leave with the officers, going first to the building to our left and then to our backdoor. I assume he was trying to convince them he knew a resident and knew how to get in. 

After about 15 minutes, the police led him to one of their cars and they drove away.

I feel guilty about this. But there were two Amazon packages near the elevator. He was fiddling with the mailboxes. I told him to leave and he didn't. I have a responsibility to my neighbors.

At least, right now, he's warm and comfortable, even though he's in the police station.