Grumpish

So, I finish my run tonight, and I am hot and sticky and grumpy.
The cloud cover that had deceptively intimated a coolish run had, instead, supported a scirocco-like wind.
I am tired of the heat.
And I am irritated.

There's a knock on the door.
This has been happening with increasing frequency in the evening.
The front lawn, which has been growing unfettered (sorry Muffin), is attracting all manner of itinerants wanting to make a few dollars.
Generally, I ignore the knocks.
But this time, I am on the phone with T, which somehow makes me a little braver, so I pull the curtain aside to look out the window.
There's a man standing there, white T-shirt, long, brown hair in a pony tail to his mid-back, sunglasses. He has a bag over his shoulder.
I say (grumpish) "Can I help you?"
He just stands there and looks at me.
I repeat myself.
He says he can't hear me.
I raise my voice and say, I don't want want anything, please go away.
He raises his arm and points above my front door and says he wants to know if I want (something unintelligible) stripped.
I say "What?" Because whatever he is saying makes no sense. And, besides, most people want to mow the lawn, and I wasn't expecting him to point above my front door. Then, I immediately say (remember I was grumpish), "Go away, I don't want anything."
He says, "Huh? I can't hear you." Just standing there and not moving. So, I repeat myself and he says he can't hear me again. And, again, not moving.
Since I am on the phone with T, I am only partially analyzing this conversation but somewhere in the back of my head I'm sure I've had conversations through this front window--and the recipient has been able to hear me.
A bit confused but tiring of this, I drop the curtain and turn away, feeling rude, to resume my conversation with T.

When I get off the phone, it dawns on me, that perhaps the man was trying to get me to open the front door.
Do you think?