A student came into my office and apologized for interrupting my work. "My work itself is an interruption," I said. "In fact, this entire day has been a series of interruptions inside interruptions until I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing anymore."
What I was supposed to be doing at that particular moment was helping a student understand transitional devices, not a thrilling topic for discussion but we managed. That talk interrupted an attempt to write an exam, which, in turn, was interrupted by a class and a workout at the rec center and then another class, which was interrupted before it even began because the classroom door was shut and locked and I don't have any keys to that building.
But somehow we survived all that and now here I am disentangling myself from all those embedded layers of interruptions so that I can think about maybe perhaps at some point (gasp!) going home while the sun is still shining. Shocking, I know. I'll be on campus for Very Important Events just about every evening this week, including the mysterious "be in your office from 3 to 5 Friday" event, unless it gets interrupted by, say, a meteor strike.
It could happen. Even locked doors can't prevent that kind of interruption.