Due to my work schedule and my roommates lack thereof I have had the apartment to myself for a few days over the Christmas/New Year’s break. It has been a little bit lonely but I have taken the opportunity to read, and watch the special features on my new Office DVDs. (I’ve learned that not everyone appreciates deleted scenes and episode commentaries like I do.) And since I’m the only one here I haven’t seen the need to be quite as discreet in some of my daily activities. More on this later.
Our landlord, Gary, has decided that our little apartment is quite as profitable of an investment as it used to be and has thus hired a realtor to help him sell it. The realtor has been very understanding and easy to work with. He has come by to take pictures of the place and a few times has brought prospective buyers to experience The Pistachio first hand. He has some of our phone numbers and usually calls to give us a heads up that some people are coming over.
Today when I got home from work I got a quick snack and was getting ready to go onto campus to purchase my textbooks. I pulled out my new Sports Illustrated and headed into the throne to take care of some business. I was about halfway through a very interesting editorial on the little unnoticed things in sports that potentially have a very big impact on the outcomes of their respective events when I hear a very firm knock on our front door. I hesitate for a moment trying to decide if answering the door would be worth my efforts when I hear a second and equally confident rap on the door. I decide to quickly abort the mission and attend to my unforeseen visitors.
In our apartment the bathrooms are conveniently located in the bedrooms. So on a normal trip to the john you would have two or three physical barriers between you and the general public. (The bathroom door, the bedroom door, and if there are no visitors, the front door.) Believe it or not there are some sketchy characters in Provo and, to prevent one of them from capitalizing on the fact that most everyone is away for a few weeks, I’ve been keeping our front door locked even when I’m there. Now that I’m on full alert and hastily wrapping things up I’m paying more attention to what’s going on out front I can hear a key in the lock. I figure it’s either Gary or the Realtor, but either way I’m in a potentially awkward position. You see, not only am I on the pot with my pants down around my ankles, but due to the previously mentioned lack of people in town I’ve got both the bathroom door and the bedroom door wide open. (Don’t knock this ‘till you’ve tried it, it’s actually very liberating in a way.)
Realizing my compounding circumstances I’m hustling more with every passing second. Making sure that nothing of importance gets caught in my zipper and confirming that my belt is at least most of the way buckled, I turn the corner just in time to see a somewhat surprised realtor and two unsuspecting clients coming through my front door. “Mind if we have a look around?”
Potentially awkward situation; averted.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Scott's Quest
I debated the issue for several hours. Should I leave at four, or should I try to be there by four? Four in the morning that is. This was important to me and I wasn’t going to let myself, or anyone else, down. I decided to split the difference and before I lied down for the night I set my alarm for three forty-five.
After one punch of the snooze button I jumped out of bed and turned on the stove. I threw on a few layers of clothes, had a quick bowl of cereal, and poured the now boiling water into the previously prepared cup of hot coco mix that I had craftily prepared the night before.
I got in my car about ten minutes after four, the temperature read 28 degrees. Good thing I had come prepared. I pulled up to the Marriott Center around four fifteen. The temperature now read 25 degrees and falling.
I surveyed the area and saw only one other car in the parking lot and no one standing near the doors. I positioned my car so that between my peripheral vision and my rear view mirrors I could monitor all activity.
I had brought with me several things to read, my iPod, and my phone to pass the time. I set my alarm for five just in case I dozed off and began to read. A few other cars pulled into the parking lot. None of us wanted to brave the cold before we absolutely had to, but we didn’t want to give anyone else too big of an advantage. It felt like a chess match and game of chicken all rolled into one. I continued reading, sipping my hot chocolate, and running my car for a few minutes at a time to keep me warm, all while keeping a close eye on my early rising rivals.
Shortly after six, all hell broke loose. One of the car doors opened and set in motion a torrent of activity. Luckily I was prepared for this event. I had my backpack, my blankets, and my gloves positioned for a quick exit. I deftly maneuvered myself to the ticket office door and, once situated, I found myself surprisingly warm, sufficiently entertained, and second in line.
I passed the time reading Sports Illustrated and intermittently chatting with my fellow die-hards. At about quarter to seven a tiny bit of panic struck when I realized that staying warm wasn’t going to be my number one problem; having to go number one was going to be my number one problem. Hot chocolate on a near empty stomach will go straight through you.
I was silently commending myself on my excellent planning and execution. I was warm, comfortable, and had arrived at just the right time. I had made phone calls and asked all the appropriate questions to know exactly what to expect. My plan had gone off without a hitch and soon my planning, preparation, and early rising were going to come to fruition.
At quarter to eight we were told that they were almost ready for us and were going to start a few minutes early. I efficiently gathered my things and prepared myself for the long awaited entrance into the warm lobby. I knew that I would be commended by a few and ridiculed by others. But anyone who knows me well would be far from surprised by my efforts.
Shortly before eight, we were led inside single file. After a friendly exchange through the glass window, a quick swipe of my Visa card, and a sincere “Enjoy the game,” I walked away with exactly what I had set out for four hours earlier: Five tickets to the Las Vegas Bowl.
Go Cougars, see you in Vegas.
After one punch of the snooze button I jumped out of bed and turned on the stove. I threw on a few layers of clothes, had a quick bowl of cereal, and poured the now boiling water into the previously prepared cup of hot coco mix that I had craftily prepared the night before.
I got in my car about ten minutes after four, the temperature read 28 degrees. Good thing I had come prepared. I pulled up to the Marriott Center around four fifteen. The temperature now read 25 degrees and falling.
I surveyed the area and saw only one other car in the parking lot and no one standing near the doors. I positioned my car so that between my peripheral vision and my rear view mirrors I could monitor all activity.
I had brought with me several things to read, my iPod, and my phone to pass the time. I set my alarm for five just in case I dozed off and began to read. A few other cars pulled into the parking lot. None of us wanted to brave the cold before we absolutely had to, but we didn’t want to give anyone else too big of an advantage. It felt like a chess match and game of chicken all rolled into one. I continued reading, sipping my hot chocolate, and running my car for a few minutes at a time to keep me warm, all while keeping a close eye on my early rising rivals.
Shortly after six, all hell broke loose. One of the car doors opened and set in motion a torrent of activity. Luckily I was prepared for this event. I had my backpack, my blankets, and my gloves positioned for a quick exit. I deftly maneuvered myself to the ticket office door and, once situated, I found myself surprisingly warm, sufficiently entertained, and second in line.
I passed the time reading Sports Illustrated and intermittently chatting with my fellow die-hards. At about quarter to seven a tiny bit of panic struck when I realized that staying warm wasn’t going to be my number one problem; having to go number one was going to be my number one problem. Hot chocolate on a near empty stomach will go straight through you.
I was silently commending myself on my excellent planning and execution. I was warm, comfortable, and had arrived at just the right time. I had made phone calls and asked all the appropriate questions to know exactly what to expect. My plan had gone off without a hitch and soon my planning, preparation, and early rising were going to come to fruition.
At quarter to eight we were told that they were almost ready for us and were going to start a few minutes early. I efficiently gathered my things and prepared myself for the long awaited entrance into the warm lobby. I knew that I would be commended by a few and ridiculed by others. But anyone who knows me well would be far from surprised by my efforts.
Shortly before eight, we were led inside single file. After a friendly exchange through the glass window, a quick swipe of my Visa card, and a sincere “Enjoy the game,” I walked away with exactly what I had set out for four hours earlier: Five tickets to the Las Vegas Bowl.
Go Cougars, see you in Vegas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
