Stressful Morning

Yesterday I had to check my Gmail account about 30 times to see if I was one of the chosen few lucky enough to try to get Opening Day tickets this morning.

I wasn't, but the Tall Drink of Water was. It was a very big deal.

He came over to my house last night with his overnight bag, burritos, a laptop and an assortment of talismans. Because he's in Columbus this morning for work, he knew I'd have to log on and try to get the tickets. He was very worried I'd fail in some way. He even considered calling his brother in Florida and having him do it.

"I'll set everything up on your computer before I leave, lay it next to you in your bed with my credit card so that all you have to do is roll over. Then I'll call you just a few minutes before 9 and wake you up and I'll sit on the phone with you."

He told me this last night about five times.

Bleary-eyed and tired, I watched him sit my computer on the bed this morning - open and with his credit card on it. "It's all ready," he said. "All you have to do is click the link. I'll call you just before 9."

There was a lot of pressure. Knowing he'd be so disapointed if he didn't get them, I vowed to click harder and move my curser faster than anyone in the hopes of beating them to the punch. I imagined thousands of Cincinnatian's doing the same thing at exactly the same time, all of us with our game faces on. Some probably even wore lucky shirts and hats.

But then I was really tired when he called and the cat was purring next to me, making it nearly impossible to feel very competitive. So I clicked the link, logged in and waited to see if I got in.

"Please choose your tickets," the screen said. I sprang to life.

I had 1 minute and 33 seconds to fill out the form, so I hung up on TDW so I could concentrate. Then I realized I didn't know his address. I called him back. No answer. Damn. I filled out other stuff and called him again. Got it. I opened my eyes wide to shake off the sleep and concentrate on his credit card number. Got it.

I clicked Continue.

"Sorry. But you have incorrectly typed in your phone number. Please use 9 digits with no spaces."

Ack! I typed it again.

"Sorry. But you have incorrectly typed in your phone number. Please use 9 digits with no spaces."

What!? &#@!%! I just did that!

I did it again, this time leaving checked what the screen checked automatically. No time to refuse email announcments or text messages!

"Would you like to print your tickets now (recommended) or do you want them shipped to you?" The screen asked.

I thought I was being clever. I thought if I printed them now there was no way they could take them back from me. I'd have proof that I got them. So I paid (well, technically, TDW paid) an extra $2 to print them immediately.

"Are you serious," he asked when I called back to tell him the good news. "Now I can't save the ticket stub. I always save the ticket stubs."

"Oh... Well, you can save these. They'll just be paper ones," I said hopefully.

"It's not the same," he told me.

Ingrate.

"Oh yeah? Well, in addition to your paper tickets, you'll also be getting text messages from the Reds."

Then I smiled a little.