Holy cow, I wrote a book!
Some months ago, I wanted to make a reservation at my favorite
Seattle restaurant for special occasions:
Their original Wallingford location was so small,
you had to go into the kitchen to use the rest room.
When they moved to Fremont, they made a special point
of putting the rest room in the kitchen for old times' sake.)
One evening, I called to make a reservation, and since they aren't
open on Sundays, I was taken off guard when a live human being answered.
I said that I was expecting the answering machine since I thought
they were closed.
The person who answered explained,
"Well, we are closed.
I'm not really supposed to be here.
I'm just baking some cookies."
And then he took my reservation.
I'm assuming he actually works there and wasn't some guy who broke
into the restaurant to bake cookies.