Your Not-So-Friendly Neighborhood Repairman

My parents have a repairman at our house fixing something. I live with my parents and am helping my dad out in the yard. The repairman finishes the job and drives away.

Dad and I finish the yardwork and head inside. Dad hops in the shower first to clean off all of the dirt, and then it’s my turn. The bathroom is heavily steamy when I come out, and I open the bathroom window.

That’s when I hear it: a clatter.

I put my glasses on and inspect the window sill. A small, triangular piece of broken plastic is in the track of the window.

I’m concerned, initially thinking some part of the window broke, but no. The window is intact. I can’t find a single spot where anything could have gotten damaged. Then, I get a cold feeling of dread.

I come out and talk to Mom.

Me: “Mom, did the repairman ask to use the bathroom?”

Mom looks a little surprised.

Mom: “Well, yes. I told him to go ahead. They’re people, too, and need to do their business. Why?”

I show her the bit of plastic, which I left where it was without touching it.

Mom: “What’s this? Is the window broken?”

Me: “No, I think that’s the piece of plastic he stuck in the window to prevent the window from latching when we closed it.”

Mom went very still for a moment and then shared a horrified look with Dad. The local newspapers had been detailing a rash of home burglaries where the burglar gained access through a window, usually the bathroom.

Long story short, a police officer talked to all of us, got the “repairman’s” name from our paperwork, took the plastic, and left. I’m not sure about the details of the investigation, but the burglaries did stop afterward.