Wanted, Dead or Alive

Today I was sent to the Federal Building here in Dallas where I was to deliver the contents of an envelope to a specific lady (we will call her Judy) who supposedly worked for the IRS. I have no idea what was in this envelope: check, personal note, death threat, location of John Gotti's remains, three freshly rolled doobies, whatever. The contents were not the issue today. Instead, the issue was whether or not I was going to be physically manhandled to the ground by two federal security guards in an effort to subdue what they thought was a crazy person inside United States property. This is where we start.

I walked into the building and attempted to hand the two guards on duty the envelope I was holding rather than my government issued ID. Whoops. Apparently, in a federal building this is something that you are not supposed to do. They almost looked offended. It was like I had just walked up to them and pointed out an unsightly birthmark on one of their faces. In retrospect, that might have been a better idea. Furthermore, as I laid the envelope down on the counter, they stepped back as if I had just showed them a weapon. I felt like I was one of those outlaws who walks into a saloon in the Old West, boldly pressing up to the bartender and immediately placing a gun on the bar to demonstrate his intentions.

Now,I know that in no way in a million years could I pull off something as cool and outlaw-esque, but for whatever reason I felt that I was one bad glance away from having my shirt pulled over my head and my hands cuffed behind me as I lay flopping around on floor. All the while, I was just setting this envelope to down to pull out my wallet. Just an absurd over reaction on all accounts.

Regardless, I explain that I am there to deliver an envelope to Judy as they continue to give me a perplexed look like I were a giant chicken nugget speaking in some indecipherable Nugget language (Don’t ask why I used that metaphor. I'm not even sure). They finally let me through and direct me to the IRS office. I can immediately tell that this is not where I am supposed to be. I'm awkwardly standing in the room where people go to wait in line and pay their taxes and grumble to themselves about the government. Knowing that this is all wrong, I walk up to one of the windows and explained my quest for Judy. The guy listens for about .0032 seconds before telling me to take a number and wait in line. Great. This is going to be awhile.

I sit down and proceed to make my "Is the IRS really going to make me wait here in line just to be told that I am in the wrong place, when I already know I am in the wrong place" face. Apparently, the old man sitting next to me was able to tell what I was frustrated about because he leaned over to me and said in an raspy tone, "Dey wanna goul the get put, and that's all the money." I'm not exactly sure what he meant by that, but I think its safe to say he was sympathizing with me. I uncomfortably shook my head to agree with him. Weirdest of all, he then nodded at me with a squinty-eyed confidence as if to say, "Let's take this whole place apart right now. Together, we are unstoppable." Unnerved, I went back to staring at the wall and he went back to wheezing aloud.

Deciding to make the best out of the situation, I call my little buddy Drew to talk of the previous night's tomfoolery. Our conversation goes swimmingly for a number of minutes before one of the security guards walks into the office and makes it clear that my phone needs to be turned off or my immediate health may be in jeopardy. In fact, he barked this order at me like I was a dog who had just pooped on the new carpet. I didn't argue. I spent the rest of the time, for lack of anything else to do, trying to avoid eye contact with old man and reading Us Weekly. And for the record, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban's wedding looked absolutely beautiful.

So I make it up to the open window after about twenty minutes, but I am begrudgingly informed that I am supposed to go somewhere else. Shocking. So, I am sent to an office that I cannot find, that's at the end of a hall that I cannot find, that's left from the elevators that I cannot find. I am running about searching everywhere for this place, looking more confused than my father does during a game of Trivial Pursuit. Consequently, I have attracted the attention of the security guards once again. After venturing about for quite some time, I find where I am supposed to have gone only to realize that I have been directed to a dropbox, not an actual human being. Isn't anyone listening to me? I feel like I am taking crazy pills! I make my way back to the security guards at the front who see me coming and start looking about as uneasy as Mel Gibson in a bagel shop in Queens.

I tell them my problem and say that I just need to deliver this letter to the lady. "Oh, you mean you just needed to see her. We will call her down here." Let me tell, you, I've never been so close to lunging towards someone's throat as I was at that minute. Before I could decide whether I was cat-like enough to make a sudden, but lethal, move without being caught by the other guard, he tells me that there is no one with that name at the building. Wait a minute. At about the same time, the guards and I realize that I have been running around haphazardly with an envelope for someone who they have no record of, and I have definitely not been acting as cool as I should be. In fact, the security guards later described my behavior better when they used the word "suspicious."

Ignoring my bad feeling and deciding that I needed to call my boss, I reached for my phone and flipped it open. "Sir, put the phone away now!" Crap. I am going to be on a terrorist watch list aren't I? I nervously put my phone down explained to them what I was doing, and all was resolved. And by resolved, I mean I walked out the front door without saying a word while the guards made sure I didn't make any sudden moves. When I returned later that afternoon with the explanation that Judy was not on the list because she was new, the guards greeted me with open arms and understanding by refusing to allow me past the security check point. Standing on the other side of a desk and a metal detector with two armed federal guards planted between us, I finally handed the envelope to the lady I had been looking for over the past 3 and a half hours. Mission accomplished, and I only almost soiled myself out of sheer fear twice.

Mark Prior on the Disabled List Again: My buddy pat summed this up better than anyone else when he said, "Mark Prior spends more time on the DL than I do on the couch." Now that's saying something. Is it too late to call this guy a bust?

MNF: I know its been like five days since Monday Night Football had its preseason premier, but I had a few thoughts. The new crew is okay. I don't understand why ESPN/ABC didn't just keep Madden and Micheals. The crew brought in the weakest link from the Sunday night crew, Theismann (who sucks), introduces us to Tirico (not bad), and catapults Kornheiser (too early to tell) into the mix. While many said Kornheiser did well, he seemed nervous at first and very restrained. What's worse was the absolutely horrid scoreboard graphic (Fox Box) strategically place right in the way of everything on the screen. I hope to God, they remedy this before the regular season. I found myself just staring at the graphic rather than watching the game. I wasn't even reading it, just looking at it without taking in its displayed information. Like I was day dreaming or something. It’s difficult to describe. Making it worse, they had to use a silly camera angle just to fit it on the screen. I think Pat put it best when he said, "I can't even remember what play they just ran because I am focusing on how much I hate this. " Agreed.

The Return of the Drew: Well, you know who came back into town on Sunday and proceed to beg me and Pat to go drink with him. As much as I didn't want to -- I played golf all day -- I regretfully accepted. We went to Pluckers and Drew proceeded to drink a superfluous amount of beer, and consequently; berate everyone and everything before we made him walk back to my apartment alone. Aside from that, the one issue I took with Drew's return was his refusal to chug a 34 ounce Mother Plucker like he used to do. If you haven't heard, he can do it in seven seconds. When we found this out, he was a god for two weeks…then we got bored of it. Regardless, that night he said he was not going to chug. What? Are you kidding me? That's like in the movie Major League II when Ricky Vaughn stops throwing 99 mph fastballs because he has a career to think about. Drew, this chugging thing is your meal ticket. Don't mess it up.

(Side Note: He eventually did chug one. After a few minutes, though, he gave it back to the Earth if you know what I mean. We'll chalk it up to taking the summer off.)

The Best Response Ever: I was feeling down at work the other day and posed the following question to my buddy RT:

Do you ever wonder what the hell we are doing with our lives?

Without missing a beat he shoots this little nugget of truth back:

Well, Im searching through TEC reports, but all I wanna do is go to the gym and play catch, then slam a twelver and pass out in my jockeys under the AC with a hot chick.

He's right. Put my whole life into focus. Thank you, RT.

Have a good weekend. I'll be back on Monday with more.