Format the following text properly, for storytelling purposes:

This past Tuesday, upon returning home from work shortly after 5:00pm--having stayed after my normal time of departure to engage in a workout session led by one of Evelyn's good friends--I noticed something out of the ordinary no sooner than I had turned my trusty house key leftward to open the front door. A door that under normal circumstances granted effortless access to the place I've called home for almost twenty years seemed to be suffocating under an unforeseen pressure. I hear a voice call to me from inside; it is not that of the contractor, but rather one of his employees. Having moved the inhibiting forces out of the way, he opens the door. As I enter the house, it feels as though my world has been "flipped, turned upside down", to make another Fresh Prince reference. An old steel door that had been liberated from its moorings some time ago is to my left, while my trusty pet stroller--which has only been used once for such a purpose and has primarily (as recently as yesterday!) been repurposed as a makeshift shopping cart--occupies the space that exists to my right. Having left to a familiar organization of items, I am greeted by what can only be described as 'organized chaos'. It is a clean chaos, cleaner than it has been in a long time, as what appears to be a two-person crew (a man and a woman) have been hard at work. The kitchen is remarkably clean, amazingly so. Not everything has been accounted for, but it would be unrealistic to expect that the entire kitchen could have been cleaned in a single day. The floors are cleaner. The bathroom is quite clean too, though I am a little bit peeved that they have apparently disposed of my baby powder and baby wash. (Hey, they're cheaper than the 'adult' options and smell better too!) Fortunately, over the years, and with the help of some very good people (including neighbors in the community), I have managed to amass a sizable collection of hygiene products. I am not at a loss for solids and liquids that will enhance the 'pleasure factor' of my personal odors, be I by myself at home or in the presence of long-suffering coworkers here at the achievement center. Though I don't know what to make of it at first, my instincts are initially led to take everything in stride and focus on the positive aspects of everything they have done. I check out the kitchen and a little bit of the dining room, and can glance from a distance into the back rooms, before heading upstairs to see my dear Honey. There is no need to take off my shirt and shorts, as I am already donning my workout clothes. My feet are starting to feel the effects of a satisfying but strenuous two hours of exercise, but as much as I would like to take off my shoes and socks right now, I am concerned about potentially slipping on the floor. There is an unhealthy, but understandable, amount of dirty water in a repurposed Shopvac that had once belonged to my family and I; as I have not used it for anything in some time, I have no problem with the contractor and his workers having access to it now. I wait things out patiently and try to work around the mess in front of me. Going to the kitchen I open up a jar of Chicago hot dog-style sport peppers (very delicious by the way!) and discover, after doing a double take, that the garbage can is gone. Apparently the crew intended to throw it out, though I manage to recover it after going outside and checking the back of the house. I 'smuggle' it back upstairs, and return it downstairs once they have left. The homeowners' association rulebook stipulates that workers are only allowed on the premises from 8:00am to 6:00pm Monday through Friday, 9:00am to 5:00pm on Saturdays, and not at all on Sundays. They had already committed a violation when several workers were at the house, banging away on the roof, on Easter Sunday. (No, I am not kidding.) The HOA president has been in contact with the contractor, having been supplied his number. As frustrating it is to come home and find so many different things having been moved around or even completely removed, I try to detach myself as much as I can from situations I cannot control, and figure things out on my end. I see it is a few minutes past 6:00 now. Seeing the HOA president--a longtime friend--is outside, I go to speak to her, and the contractor moves his vehicle so it is not taking up the middle of the parking lot. Instead of his workers leaving with him he leaves them here at the house to finish up what they were working on, telling them to call him once they are done so he can send for an Uber. By the time they have finally left I had been on the phone with Evelyn, the contractor, and the HOA president, and it is now past 8:00pm. Honey has been fed, and I am left to a most appreciated few hours before I have to turn in for the night, which I spend organizing storage containers-- their lids labeled in extraordinarily thick black Sharpie with 'DO NOT TOUCH!'--and placing them along with other items on my bed, in anticipation of my inevitable departure. Evelyn has since used her powers of persuasion to ensure that the contractor and his workers will not be returning until after the 15th of April, which is when I will be heading to my new residence. Honey will be heading to a new residence too, as she will be returning to be with her former owner, who had gifted her to my family almost ten years ago. Everything has come full circle. I am saddened, but having been told by others that many shelters would not take a nearly decade-old Maltapoo with bad teeth, and that she would most likely be put down by the ones that would, I am heartened to know she will be in the care of someone who will give her a chance to enjoy a few more good years on this Earth. All I can do now is reminisce, as I gratefully continue my preparations.