Bob's trying to come up

I'm at home last night all alone, what with the whife being out at the beach and all, and I hear the doorbell ring.

I'm not decent, so I run up to the pinhole to get a peek. There's a good chance it's our neighbor, Naomi -- she loves the unprompted drive-by chat. But, no dice -- all I can see are the shoulders of a grey overcoat.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, it's Bob."

"Bob?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

That's funny... not expecting a Bob. Because I don't value my safety, I open the door a crack to catch a look at him. Bob looks at me, and realizes he doesn't know me.

"Is this apartment 10 D?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I guess I have the wrong apartment."

I let Bob go and close the door. I settle back in, trying to watch "The Amazing Race" finale in peace, when, minutes later, our doorman rings the apartment from downstairs.

"Hello?"

"Bob is ready to come up."

"I don't know Bob... he's not coming up."

Beat. "Okay."

Bob didn't make a third go at it.