Ok, I’m in my 4th year as a season-ticket-holder for the Hornets, well 2nd full season. But, I’m counting the two OKC years dammit…. not my fault the Bees weren’t here the whole time.

Anyway… I heard that the Hornets had contracted their ticket-printing to a company in Arkansas, and, in a tragic twist of fate, that company suffered major damage from none other than Hurricane Gustav. Go figure! I, along with many other season-tix holders I would assume, got a letter from the Hornets organization telling us that the season tickets would be delivered sometime during the week of October 20, 2008. Well the 20th just happened to be on a Monday, so I come home from work that day….. nothing. I come home on Tuesday, nothing. Wednesday… and the same result… okay now anxiety is starting to set in. “Did I give them the wrong address?? Did they delete it by accident? Am I delinquent on payment?” These are just a few questions that I was thinking about. I came home from work on Thursday and see the “sorry I missed you” sticky-note on my door from UPS. Okay, now we’re seeing progress.

Well, I had a charity event to go to on Friday, then I was helping my uncle rebuild his camp on Saturday, so I knew I was going to be away for a few days. I figured I’d see another sticky-note on my door when I got home. I hit the house Sunday evening, and nothing… no sign of them even being there. I was mortified. What episode of the Twilight Zone did I just walk into?

Monday morning, this morning in fact, I was on a mission. I was going to get those tickets! I get a free second at work, and decide to call UPS. Of course its an automated response, but when I give them the tracking number, the computer voice says that package was “delivered”! Delivered?… What? Signed for by whom?… Certainly not signed for by me. A lump forms in my throat as I try to gather my composure. I decide to call my fan rep with the Hornets. He confirms that the package was delivered, and signed for on Friday. He could even specify the time… ok now this is a full-blown crisis.

In a last desperate attempt at normalcy, I ask him if he can ID the signature. He can’t really make it out, but the name resembles the last name of my neighbor. Ah HA! A glimmer of hope at last. There I sit, counting the seconds until I can hit the door, get the hell out of work, get home, and confront said neighbor. I get home to find his windows are open, which is a clear sign that someone is home. I knock on the door, and he answers it with a box in his hand. He hands it to me and apologizes because he forgot to call me on Friday. I didn’t even wait to get inside. Instead I just tore up the wrapping in front of him. Suddenly my world was set back on the right path. My tickets were in my posession. Crisis averted, and now my blood pressure can settle back down to a manageable level, you know, without a comma in the number.

This entry is in honor of my neighbor, whom I like to call “Marcus the Magnificent”.