Wrong door number

Living in a house with a number that delivery reads as "somewhere around here" and constantly deliver other's orders to you.

11pm.
God's little bugs have long been asleep and having dreams, while I'm down on all fours, crawling across the floor, piecing together a puzzle that's actually meant for those same bugs sleeping on the floor above.

Silence.
The peaceful ticking of the wall clock.
The creaking of the wood my knees...

And suddenly... A PIERCING RING in the silence followed immediately by DEAFENING POUNDING of the door knocker!#%@??!
Almost shat myself, I jump to the door "That bastard neighbor snitched about my luxurious plantation business of two mint bushes!" and a raid team is about to start breaking down the door. Breathing heavily, ready for anything, I open the door into the night...

There's a guy in a motorcycle helmet with two pizza boxes.
He looked at me, at the order number, at the house number, at me, at the order number... muttered sorry, wrong door number and quickly retreated into the darkness, not even closing the gate behind him.
I just stood there in the silence of the night, with the rapid pounding of my heart.

A week passed.
Another unexpected ring at the door.
This time there's an auntie in leggings stretched over a Kardashian-sized ass, chattering on the phone with it pressed between her shoulder and ear. Package in her hands. Zero attention to me. She glanced at the house number and then threw out sorry, wrong door number - not to me, apparently to her phone conversation partner.
She turned her ass around and, flip-flopping in her sandals, shuffled further down the street without breaking from her phone conversation. I'm standing there like I've been doused in slop.

And then today.
Another ring that surprises me no more.
Delivery person gives me a package, takes a portrait photo of me with my trophy and leaves. I'm cool.
I look at the package - I see no surname, no address. I tear open the package and open the box - and there are cartridges for electronic cigarettes. Well, I think, this is how Dima makes his sales!

But a minute later another ring. I'm experienced now and understand everything - I go to the door with the torn-open package and under "sorry, wrong number" give back the remains of the package.

My house number is big enough to be seen from space, but that doesn't help if you can't count past ten