Uniformed cops recently showed up at my door.
My house, having recently been hit by a drive-by flooding was not ready for visitors.
An electrician that was working on electric meters had shut off my electricity for the day.
Unbeknownst to me, a power outage sends a signal to my home alarm company and the alarm company attempted to call me.
But no power means my cordless phones don't work.
Not getting a hold of me makes them send out at emergency police squad to check on my home.
Bewildered electrician who was working in the back of the house, is now being escorted to my front door--where the police start BANGING on the door-- My electric door bell not functioning either.
Cop asks if I know the electrician. Of course I don't know electrician's name, for we had not had the chance to exchange pleasantries over crumpets and tea as of yet, but his work was authorized. As I stumble and stutter over my words, partly because of my exhaustion from the previous night's water mitigation exercise--and also because I am just thrown off by the cop scene and by how it is clear that I am now also a suspected accomplice (a not very well spoken accomplice at that.)
I am asked for I.D.
Astute detective work assesses my dress code and concludes I've not only identified enough but apparently exposed enough too. My tattered undershirt, de rigueur for sleeping in humid summer weather after a late night of dealing with sewage water, makes the cop realize that I am not ready for visitors either and decides to leave me alone without frisking me.
Life is good.