Greeting service people in my bare chest is getting to be habitual.
I recently gave notice to the management of my apartment building that I intend to vacate by the end of the month. (I'm moving to a bigger, nicer unit in a more upscale area - for less rent, to boot. It's an opportunity that sort of fell into my lap, and I can't pass it up.) They told me that a pest inspector and a maintenance engineer would be stopping by some time this week to make sure I haven't destroyed the place and don't have an infestation.
The bug guy was the first to show up this morning, while I was in nothing but my gym shorts. He was ever-so-slightly chubby, but cute and friendly, with a hint of chest hair showing over the top of his collar - I certainly wouldn't have minded seeing him shirtless.
This afternoon the building guy knocked on the door; when I opened it he actually took a step or two back, wide-eyed at the sight of my dishabille. He came in and did his inspection lickety-split - he was clearly nervous and uncomfortable. I don't know for sure that it was because I wasn't wearing a shirt; it might have had to do with the little hints around my place that I'm gay, such as the prominently-displayed photo of me & my boyfriend, and my Queer as Folk DVDs - he was from a culture that is traditionally very conservative.
In any event, they both gave my apartment a clean bill of health, so that's what matters.
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