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No preemptory knock, no "We're comin' in!"
Just like that, two men were in my apartment with a huge vaccuum, ready to suck out the wet spot steadily growing on the carpet (my brother's girlfriend's dad figured out that it was from the bottom floor's sprinkler system gone awry).

I was in my room, Ella Fitzgerald on and I was singing along like a mad fool. In a tank top and green skivvies, no less. They were boy-cut, but still. I froze when I heard the voices, and I didn't have time to shut the door.

This reminds me of the time, about three years ago, I was in my bed in my underwear and taking a nap. The door opens and it's a maintenance guy coming to fix our fridge. I just lay still and hoped that since I was on the top bunk and I was furtively covering myself with a body pillow, that he wouldn't notice me in the pink-leopard print bra. Like maybe if I closed my eyes and pretended not to be there, that he wouldn't notice me.

In this case, though, I had to do or say something instead of just standing there half-clothed. Like a deer caught in headlights. Without its pants on.

"We don't really know why it's wet," I said.

"Well, we're here to figure it out," the older of the two said. And they get to work, leaving me to finally shut the door and pants myself.

I just live for days like these!