Do you know what time it is?

Well, I have my luggage back finally. What kills me about it is the time they delivered it. Here, enjoy the minute by minute account.

Last night I went to sleep about 11pm. I'd gotten home from choir, Roomie was still out, and I watched a little Who's Line on BBCAmerica. When I turned off the light a little before 11, I snuggled in and fell fast asleep. At one point my phone rang, but I was too dopey to reach for it. It was only 11:09pm, and when the message thing booped, I figured I should check it. It was Ange telling me something about Friday night plans. No biggie. I went right back to sleep.

Then my phone rang again! This time it was 1:28am. WTF? It was the middle of the night and a number I did not recognize so I let it go. Then it rang again. Surely, this is a wrong number or they will leave a message. Yep, they left a message alright. In the meantime before I heard the message boop, I'd gotten up to go to the bathroom. When I got to the front of the house, there was someone banging on the front door. Not just knocking, mind you--banging. That's when I checked the voice mail; it was some Indian sounding dude saying "This is American Airlines. I have your bag. Open your front door. I've delivered your bag, open your door." Again, I think WTF??? I find my glasses and robe in the dark, make it to the front door, and before I can open it my phone starts ringing again. Dude! I get the point! So I open the door and say "Do you KNOW what time it is???" His response: "I just deliver the bags and you said you wanted it first thing in the morning." Never you mind that I needed it first thing in the morning SIX DAYS AGO!!! I signed for the bag, took it inside, and pretty much slammed the door in his face. I guess it's not his fault entirely, but to beat down a door at 1:30 in the morning should typically elicit some hostility I would think.

But wait--there's more! I leave the bag by the front door because at this point all I want to do is go back to bed and calm down (as imaginable, I was fuming). When I get to the hallway, I hear Roomie's door open. He's on his knees, afro abounding, with his baseball bat in hand. Now if that's not funny enough, he then says under his breath "What's going on? Who's out front?" or something to that effect. All I said was, "It's my luggage. They brought it." In his sleepy haze his eyes opened to the hilarity of it all. We laughed and laughed and laughed until we went back to bed. I was still really pissed off, but hey--I had my bag back.

Glad to know the roomie is willing to put his life on the line for me after I've already taken care of problems though! :-)