Lou Pickney's Online Commentary
Favor
Thursday
March 27, 2003
My cell phone rang early this afternoon as I sat at my desk at work putting together promotional packages. It was from my friend James, who I'm going to visit in Jacksonville tomorrow. He asked me if I could do him a favor.
Normally it's only my dating life that takes Seinfeld-level turns, but this favor quickly took on a Seinfeld quality of its own. James said that he needed me to pick up a Federal Express package and a letter from the U.S. Customs service that he was expecting delivered to his home in New Tampa. His wife is out of town, so his neighbor across the street has been collecting their mail. He tried to pick it up when he was in town on Tuesday, but they weren't home at the time.
Unfortunately, James didn't have their phone number. And he only knew the wife's name (Trish) -- his wife told him her name on the phone, but she didn't say what her husband's name was. And because they would likely be at work tomorrow when I would be passing by on I-75, that meant I had to go get it tonight.
This had the looks of being problematic. But James is a friend, and he's helped me out in the past, like last year in the incident at Channelside. I figure I owe him a favor or two for that alone.
I hit I-4 around 6:20 tonight, and the traffic was heavy. Then I reached I-75 North. It was a sea of red brake lights in front of me. Traffic moved slowly. Very slowly. I found myself stuck in a parade of cars and trucks that I usually don't have to face here in this city.
Finally I made it to the Bruce B. Downs exit. I'd hoped to beat the darkness, but the sun was already disappearing in the horizon. But, I'd made it to New Tampa.
The New Tampa area is in the northern part of Hillsborough County. It's nice in that most of it is very new (hence the name). The buildings and businesses are for the most part extremely modern looking. They even have an elaborate bike path, which I have mixed feelings about. I don't bike, and I hate having to deal with bikers in traffic. It's horrible, some idiot winding a wobbly path in and out of traffic, but if there's a collision then I give you one guess who's liable (the guy in the car). By the same token, a bike path in theory gives you a chance to bike without the threat of traffic. So fair enough, I guess.
James gave me kind of sketchy directions to his place. "Take a left, then the first right, then the first left, then the first right." Sounds like a recipe for confusion. But amazingly I made it there on the first try. He lives in a nice neighborhood.
I pulled into his driveway and looked around. His neighbor Sal was in his yard directly across the street. But it was Trish, one house down, who had the mail. I'd been told there would be a black Ford Explorer in the driveway... but there was no car there. It was 7:10 (I told you traffic was slow).
I figured I'd get the lowdown from Sal, but as I got out of my Neon I saw Sal starting his car. Before I could flag him down, he was gone down the road.
One bit of hope was the light on from a side room in the home. It was officially dark at this point. I rang the doorbell... and waited. Nothing.
James answered his cell phone on the third ring. I explained the situation -- he told me to go knock... and if no one answered, to wait until 7:30. All I needed was the guitar "doon duh doon" hook from Seinfeld for a scene cutaway.
I went back to the door and knocked. I waited... and again nothing. I walked back toward the car, preparing to wait it out.
Behind me I heard a door open. "This is how people get shot," I thought to myself. I turned around and saw an attractive brunette woman standing in the doorway, clutching a cordless phone and giving me a slightly quizzical look.
Quickly I identified myself and asked if she was Trish. She said yes, and I explained the situation. She said the Fed Ex package had arrived today, but that the box was soaking wet. Tampa had a major rain/hail storm today, which drenched everything. However, the box managed to keep the contents of the box safe.
Trish went inside for a moment and then reappeared with a shopping bag. Inside were clothes. The box did its job -- it might have been soaked, but the clothes were dry. I thanked her and took the clothes. I asked about the Customs letter, but she said she hadn't received it. She made sure to mention that her husband was going to be home within five minutes (and she didn't let go of that phone, either). Though I can't blame her -- home alone with a 6'2" guy with a shaved head prowling around the neighborhood, I'd have been the same way.
She made sure to ask my name, I guess so she could verify the story with James (as if an imposter could fabricate an elaborate story like this just to abscond with a shipment of clothes). Or maybe she filed a police report on me, I don't know.
Whatever the case, I didn't want to be hanging around when the husband got home. Wouldn't that look suspicious, me slinking out of his home with his wife there alone at night. I decided that might not be such a good idea, so I wasted no time in leaving.
Right now the clothes are in my car. I'm leaving them in there, lest I forget them. That'd be a funny rib, pick up the clothes but then accidentally leave them behind here. Whatever, after all that effort I want credit for the favor.
J-ville is tomorrow. Ludacris and then an east coast party weekend. We'll see soon enough how Jax likes to throw down...
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