The maintenance people in my apartment complex have the worst timing.
This afternoon, after a crazy-busy morning, I decided to take a nap. Nothing big, just an hour or so to get me back to center. I'm woken up shortly thereafter by loud, open-the-fuck-up-it's-the-cops-style pounding on my front door and someone shouting, "housekeeping!" like a drill sergeant.
In my still sleep-addled state, my mind comes up with Schwarzenegger in an apron. Quite seriously. Not a great image, but a hell of a wake-up call.
Now, my complex may be nice, but complimentary housekeeping isn't part of the package. However, if they were who they said they were, that meant they had a key to my apartment and I was not exactly dressed for company. I flung myself out of bed and ran to the front door to keep it locked until I could figure out what was going on.
Me: Uh, hi, can I help you?
Me: ... Since when do I have housekeeping?
Housekeeping: We're here to clean your bathroom.
Me: Um, that's really not ... necessary ...
Housekeeping: It's just the OU Housing department's way of saying thank you for being such a loyal tenant for the past three years.
Me: Oh. Well that's really nice and all ... um ... I'm wearing a bedsheet right now, ma'am.
Housekeeping: Oh. Um ... we'll come back in five minutes.
So they left me to make myself presentable - while the whole bedsheet-as-gown-look may be very early-cinema starlet, it really wasn't doing it for me.
Apparently, I have in fact earned myself a weekly bathroom cleaning because of my loyalty to the OU Housing system. Which is seriously not necessary, but I'm really not sure how to tell them I can Pine-Sol my own toilet.
Note to self: no more napping on Thursdays.