It has been five days since our household was put on alert. According to the intelligence that has been gathered we could expect contact with the courier at any time between now and Friday. I woke up well before the sun rose over the horizon this morning. Sleep was the farthest thing on my mind. I laid there in bed thinking about what I should expect and planning for the potential rendezvous with the double agent. Without realizing it I began humming the theme song to Mission Impossible. This was going to be the day contact was made, I could just feel it.
Since it was obvious I wasn’t going to go back to sleep I decided to get up and get ready for the day. Trina was less than appreciative when I turned on the bedroom light. I guess I just assumed that she would be as excited as I was and therefore she would be awake too. I guessed wrong. After catching a pillow upside the head I turned the light off. Showering and getting dressed in the dark can’t be that hard. I bet all spies have to do that at some point during a mission. I briefly considered wearing a black turtleneck today and maybe putting on some camo face paint but realized that it would be bright daylight in a few hours and temperatures are expected to reach near 100 degrees. If I dressed that way by noon I would look like a melted birthday candle. If I approached the mailman looking like that it could result in a restraining order and I just couldn’t take that chance since he would be carrying something more important than national security secrets. He would have my play-off and World Series tickets. After getting dressed I crept downstairs careful not to awaken the little agents in the house. I went outside and down to the mailbox to see if the mailman had arrived yet. The box was as empty as the Giants minor league system. I tilted my watch towards the street light; 4:15 AM and the mail still wasn’t here. I briefly thought about driving over to the post office but decided they probably wouldn’t answer the door when I knocked. I went back to the house to wait. I sat there in the dark living room intently listening for the sound of the mail truck. About every 15 minutes I would get up and make my way to the front window. About every 16 minutes I would smack my leg on the corner of the end table and mutter under my breath and threaten the table that if it happened again I was going to the 24 hour Wal-Mart and buying a chain saw. About every 17 minutes I would look out the window and see nothing but darkness. About every 17 Â½ minutes I would raise the shades on the window and grumble that I should have remembered that Trina had insisted that we have shades on the windows. By six-thirty in the morning it had already been a long day and my tickets still had not arrived. Soon the family began to awaken from hibernation and make their way downstairs. The girls upon seeing me sitting in the chair holding my throbbing leg with a look of loathing towards the end table quickly went into the kitchen and out of sight. Dakota came bounding down the stairs and stopped dead in his tracks. He yelled to his mother who was still upstairs, “Mom, dad has on those spy clothes again and he’s torn down the drapes again!” If I didn’t think I would miss the mailman I would have started a Nerf war against that boy. As it was I would not be leaving that chair until either the mailman arrived to be interrogated as to why mail cannot be delivered at 4:00 AM on ticket days or it is time for me to go to work. I briefly considered calling the office to see if Play-off Ticket Delivery Day was a holiday but if Opening Day and All-Star Game Day were not holidays, this probably wasn’t either. I considered taking the subject up with the diversity council. This work environment obviously does not take my religious beliefs seriously. Yeah I can already tell this is going to be a very long day. It’s going to be even longer if those tickets don’t arrive.