There Are Too Many Random Fruit Lanes in the Suburbs

I heard the door bell ring and chose to ignore it. Then it rang again and who ever was doing it started knocking, too. I walked into the dining room and peeked through the window curtains to see who was at the door. If it had been a UPS guy or mailman, I would have gotten it. But standing at the door was a Yeshiva boy with a knapsack on and I wasn't wearing a normal top. I figured he'd go away and after listening to three more knocks, I started walking away from the dining room. Only, then I heard someone fumbling with the combination lock. It's one thing for someone to knock eight times and ring the doorbell ten times, it's a whole different league when they try breaking in.
"Who's there?" I called from inside.
He answered a muffled response.
Opening the door a little, I sticking my head out from the side.
"Is this Rosenberg?" He asked, looking down to read it off a paper (that must've been the paper with the code to get into the house he was trying to get into).
"Um...no. It's not. Do you have their address because I can direct you there if you do?"
"70 Random Fruit Lane? This isn't That Random Fruit Lane?"
"No. It's That Other Random Fruit Lane."
"Oh, really?" He started arguing in his confusion. "I thought it was...this isn't? Really?"
Needless to say, I sent him off in the right direction.