Close Call

Due to my work schedule and my roommates lack thereof I have had the apartment to myself for a few days over the Christmas/New Year’s break. It has been a little bit lonely but I have taken the opportunity to read, and watch the special features on my new Office DVDs. (I’ve learned that not everyone appreciates deleted scenes and episode commentaries like I do.) And since I’m the only one here I haven’t seen the need to be quite as discreet in some of my daily activities. More on this later.

Our landlord, Gary, has decided that our little apartment is quite as profitable of an investment as it used to be and has thus hired a realtor to help him sell it. The realtor has been very understanding and easy to work with. He has come by to take pictures of the place and a few times has brought prospective buyers to experience The Pistachio first hand. He has some of our phone numbers and usually calls to give us a heads up that some people are coming over.

Today when I got home from work I got a quick snack and was getting ready to go onto campus to purchase my textbooks. I pulled out my new Sports Illustrated and headed into the throne to take care of some business. I was about halfway through a very interesting editorial on the little unnoticed things in sports that potentially have a very big impact on the outcomes of their respective events when I hear a very firm knock on our front door. I hesitate for a moment trying to decide if answering the door would be worth my efforts when I hear a second and equally confident rap on the door. I decide to quickly abort the mission and attend to my unforeseen visitors.

In our apartment the bathrooms are conveniently located in the bedrooms. So on a normal trip to the john you would have two or three physical barriers between you and the general public. (The bathroom door, the bedroom door, and if there are no visitors, the front door.) Believe it or not there are some sketchy characters in Provo and, to prevent one of them from capitalizing on the fact that most everyone is away for a few weeks, I’ve been keeping our front door locked even when I’m there. Now that I’m on full alert and hastily wrapping things up I’m paying more attention to what’s going on out front I can hear a key in the lock. I figure it’s either Gary or the Realtor, but either way I’m in a potentially awkward position. You see, not only am I on the pot with my pants down around my ankles, but due to the previously mentioned lack of people in town I’ve got both the bathroom door and the bedroom door wide open. (Don’t knock this ‘till you’ve tried it, it’s actually very liberating in a way.)

Realizing my compounding circumstances I’m hustling more with every passing second. Making sure that nothing of importance gets caught in my zipper and confirming that my belt is at least most of the way buckled, I turn the corner just in time to see a somewhat surprised realtor and two unsuspecting clients coming through my front door. “Mind if we have a look around?”

Potentially awkward situation; averted.