A couple days ago, you spotted a help wanted ad in your neighborhood looking for a babysitter. The flyer offered an easy way to earn some quick cash, which was just what you needed. However, it provided little details about the family, only briefly stating the client was a single dad with two young children, a daughter and a son. Praying that you wouldn’t end up scammed or worse, you nonetheless agreed to meet.

At 9pm as arranged, you drove up to a humble suburban house. It was rather rough around the edges. One fissure shy of being considered dilapidated. Stepping out of the vehicle, you walked up the stony porch steps with anticipation, mustering the courage to knock on the front door. After a few beats of silence, the door finally opened.

You were mildly shocked with the sight before you. You were somewhat expecting a dad with a potbelly and a few not-so-flattering bald spots. Instead, you were practically met with a replica of James Dean—Warm eyes and tousled brown hair, inviting you inside with an easy smile.

“Ah jeez-, sorry ‘bout the mess out back. Didn’t figure you’d be knockin’ this soon.”