The annoying thing is I'm normally up by then. I'm normally up at around 6:30. But yesterday I was not. I hadn't gone to bed until about three, so I was still out of it when the phone rang at 8:14. I chose not to answer it. Nothing good can come from answering the phone in this state. But when the machine went on and I heard the rush of street noise come through the speaker I realized it was somebody calling from the front of the building. And somewhere through the haze of my sleep, I remembered: The Package. My laptop! It's here. It was FedEx.

I hate abrupt wake-ups, but sometimes they're necessary. Like when you realize you've overslept and you have a plane to catch. I think that's the worst. Or when your consciousness is tingling alive just as you feel something crawling up your leg. That's pretty bad, too. But here's another one: realizing the new laptop you ordered, which you've been tracking online since it left Shanghai last week, is just outside your building and about to get back on a truck. I threw off the sheets and looked out the window. There it was: the FedEx truck, parked right outside. Wait! I thought about opening the window and screaming from my fifth-story window, but that might be kind of weird. The next best thing was to run out in my underwear, but I had enough of my wits about me to know that was probably a bad option, too. Oh, why so early, FedEx man?

I found my jeans on the radiator and slid into them as I made my way out the door. In the hallway, I buttoned them up, though I discovered later that I forgot the zipper. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I left it open intentionally. Maybe that's part of 'the look' I was going for. Why not?

Bare feet. Crazy hair like some kind of bird's nest. Couldn't wait on the elevator. No time. Down the stairs I ran hobbled, my SI joint yelling at me the entire way: E-hem! Excuse me . . . what the hell do you think you're doing? Remember me?

When I got to the lobby, I saw the guy getting into the truck. I didn't have keys to the building, so I had to pull the mat into the doorway to prop the door open, which I believe violates some sort of condo rule.

I got to within an arms length and the truck began pulling away. I hopped along side of it for a second, and then screamed: "Hey!"

The yell was kind of loud and aggressive for the eight o'clock hour. I was a bit surprised at myself, actually. I don't normally yell like that, you know. But I had just ran down five flights of stairs. This guy wasn't getting away that easily. Not when his truck was right there beside me.

The truck stopped suddenly and I heard a car honk from behind it. I went to the side window and smiled a big toothy smile at the driver. "Package?" I said, and pointed to the building. Then to myself. And nodded for effect.

The man said something, which I didn't understand, but I did hear him say my apartment number, so I nodded again. Yes, that is me. Then he said something else which I didn't understand. I shook my head.

He looked a little perturbed now - he sighed, rolled his eyes, and put the truck into park. Then he shifted over to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door.

"A lady signed for it and was going to bring it up to you."

It's a wonderful thing to have neighbors that are nice enough to sign for packages and bring them to your door when you're not available. But right then, I wanted to strangle whoever it was who had done just that. She must have gone up the elevator while I was coming down the stairs.

"Shit!" I said, again a little too loudly.

The FedEx guy kinda scowled at that remark. I immediately apologized. "No, that's great. Thank you!" Then I limped back inside.

When I got to my apartment door, there was my new laptop waiting for me in its neat little cardboard box, calm and innocent. The realization that right now I could be sleeping in my bed and the package would still be right here waiting for me was a bitter pill to swallow. But whatever. It was here, wasn't it?

I found out later who the mysterious signing lady was by way of an email confirmation from FedEx which revealed her name. I had her email address, so I sent her a quick thank you.

"That's what neighbors are for!" she wrote back.

Indeed.

Happy Turkey Week!

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