For this awkward moment, I will go back to my college days. It was my sophomore year, and I was working my booty off with two jobs to try to pay tuition. One of my jobs was on the "Campus Environment Team" aka work-study campus cleaners. I had signed up to clean the library. (Did I mention creepy, 100 year old library with gigantuous windows and stacks of books from floor to ceiling?) Usually I cleaned for about an hour a day, from 9 to 10. I don't know when I did homework. I think it was from 7:45 when I got back from Job #1 to 9:00 when I started cleaning. Oh well, that is beside the point.
So anyway, the security staff insisted on taking the young ladies to and from the buildings they cleaned and the dorms (when it was after hours, of course.) I would usually call them when I was done cleaning, so they could come get me, but sometimes they would come early, and having had keys to all the buildings, they would let themselves in and find creative ways to scare the snot out of me.
On one particular occasion, there had been a huge problem with the plumbing backing up in the basement restrooms. Let's just say that a lot of sewage water found its way up through the floor drains and into parts of the bathroom where there should never be sewage water. Maintenance had gotten the problem fixed and the biggest pieces cleaned up (cringe). I then spent the next hours literally scrubbing poo off every lower surface of both women's and men's bathrooms.
Needless to say I wasn't in and out of there in a mere hour. Security started to wonder. I gave them a call around midnight, stating that I was not yet done, but would be sure to call them when I finished. Adam, the gaurd, said ok. He'd be waiting for my call.
And... back to work. Now there is nothing like putting some real elbow grease into scrubbing doody off the men's b-room floor to make a girl get a little roasty-toasty. Actually, I was dying of heat exhaust! Well, maybe not dying, but at least moderatly suffering. I rolled up the ankles of my sweats and hiked the bottom of my shirt up. In order to keep it from sliding back down again, I pulled the bottom of the shirt up through the collar and tucked it in, exposing almost all of my neon green sports bra. My crop top was complete.
At about ten to one, I was just finishing up. I grabbed my mop and wheeled the bucked of water toward the door of the men's room (mind you, I was in the men's bathroom, after hours in the creepiest old library ever). Just as I reached out my hand to push open the door, it swung open! There stood Adam. I did a gasp/triple take/heart flutter/omigoshi'mpracticallynaked/whatareyoudoinghere,i'mgoingtokillyou and the door swung shut. Adam had just stood there with an equally shocked (I'm sure for other reasons) expression on his face.
I fixed my shirt. I'm not quite sure on all the details of the awkwardness that ensued. I only remember that Adam appologized profusely and I railed on him for not waiting for me to call and for trying (successfully) to scare me spitless.
Now if this doesn't seem like a mortifying event to you, it's only because you didn't go to one of the strictest Bible colleges in the midwest. If you had, you would have known that girls don't show almost their midriff, let alone almost their entire neon green sports bra to just about anyone! Especially one of their floor-mate's fiances! Not much was ever said about the incident, and I'm not sure if I ever mentioned to Mel that her future hubby had seen more of me than he had of her (at the time). Let's just say I was glad that Adam had four sisters!