Tim was jolted awake by the shrill ring of the bedside phone. His hand plopped over and grasped the receiver, pulling it against his ear. "Mm, hello?" he grumbled, not wanting to open his eyes.
"Hello, this is your 8:00am wake-up call!" a voice chirped in his ear. Tim didn't even attempt to reply. Instead, he dropped the receiver back in its cradle and nestled his head back into the pillow, not wanting to move.
Normally, an 8:00am wake-up would be considered sleeping in for him. He'd long since stopped considering anything after 6:00am to be "early." Of course, he normally didn't have a party going on next door, complete with ear-splitting music and young adults yelling to each other at the top of their lungs. Thanks to them, Tim hadn't gotten even three hours of sleep. Even calling the front desk hadn't helped. So he'd called again…and again…and again. By the fifth time he called, he was curtly told that they were unable to do anything at this point. Thankfully, everyone next door seemed to have gone to bed – or passed out, judging by how drunk they sounded – by 4:00am and Tim had eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.
He rolled over on to his back and pried open his eyes, groaning as he did so. He did, of course, have the option of simply sleeping in and catching up on the sleep he'd lost. This was, after all, a vacation. However, he soon nixed the idea, not wanting his body to get into the habit of sleeping late. As it was he'd be losing an hour when he flew back home, so he planned to keep his bodily clock as steady as he possibly could.
Begrudgingly, he pulled himself from the comfortable bed and into the shower. The water was only lukewarm, but he wasn't in much of a mood to dawdle in the shower anyway. He quickly dressed and mapped out a plan for the day. The show wasn't until 7:30 that night, so he hoped to walk down State Street and Michigan Avenue to get the full tourist experience. He would simply let his feet take him wherever they pleased.
As he pulled his door closed behind him, he heard the music start up in the next room. He grinned, happy to be escaping the disturbance for the day.
Tim got the idea that he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw no one. With a shrug, he returned to scanning the shelves of books. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was being watched.
As he walked past the Mysteries and Crime novels section, he heard whispers coming from behind him. He once again glanced back, this time catching sight of two young women talking in low voices. They looked up and caught sight of him and they blushed at being caught. Tim smiled at them, but returned to the books.
"Um…" a voice trailed off. Tim turned once again to see the two women standing there. "Are you Thom E. Gemcity?" one of them asked shyly as her friend giggled beside her.
"Yes, I am," he admitted, hoping not to make a scene. "Can I give you autographs?"
The girls exchanged glances and more giggles before nodding and presenting Tim with a torn sheet of paper. "We're big fans," the second girl gushed. "Stacy and I…we both think you're cute!"
Tim blushed as he signed his name. "I'm flattered."
"Are you staying in town?" Stacy asked.
"I'm on vacation."
"Where are you staying?"
"I, uh, I'd rather not say. Nothing personal, I just kind of need some privacy."
"Oh, we understand," Stacy assured him in a hushed tone as though the three of them were discussing some secret mission. "Thank you for the autographs, Mr. Gemcity!" She pulled her friend away, the two whispering back and forth about their "celebrity experience."
Tim watched them going, letting out a sigh. He was grateful that his run-ins with fans had been minimal. While he appreciated the following his books had, he wasn't really in the mood to sign autographs. If he'd wanted to spend his vacation time writing he would have stayed home and tried to churn out a new book.
Before anyone else could spot him, Tim ducked out of the bookstore and soon merged with the plethora of people walking down the city street.
Tim's spirits were looking up as he stood in the crowd waiting for the theater doors to open. The rest of the door had been spent both sightseeing and shopping – he'd already promised Abby he'd bring her back a nice souvenir, and he certainly couldn't bring back something for her and nothing for anyone else – with a late lunch/early dinner at Brazzaz. He'd stopped off at his hotel room – chagrined to find that the party next door was still going strong – to drop off his purchases before catching a cab to the theater.
"May I see your ticket sir?" the usherette asked, holding out her hand for the ticket. Tim had ordered his ticket online and had printed his ticket out. He pulled the paper from his pocket and handed it to her. She ran her scanner over the barcode on the printed out ticket and then looked closely at the ticket. "Sir, this ticket is for next week," she told him with a frown.
"No, it's for tonight. I reserved it for tonight," he insisted.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to move aside," the usherette said as she handed the ticket back to him. Tim mutely stepped to the right and looked down at the ticket. Sure enough, the date on the ticket was for the following week. But Tim was positive he'd reserved his ticket for that night. He'd even double checked the e-mail confirmation.
"Is there someone I can speak to?" he asked the usherette.
"You can speak to our manager, but he'll only tell you what I told you." She pulled a radio from where it was clipped to her waistband. "We need Mr. Johnson down in the lobby, please."
Tim stood leaning against the now empty box office as he watched the other patrons enter the theater. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he could wipe the scowl off his face. He knew it wasn't the usherette's fault –she was, after all, only doing her job – and it wasn't the manager's fault, but Tim wanted to blame someone for the fact that he wasn't sitting in a cushy seat waiting for the show to begin.
A well-dressed man pushed through the current of people entering the theater. He approached the usherette and she pointed to Tim. "What seems to be the problem, sir?" he asked in an even tone.
"Well, my ticket says it was for next week, but I know for a fact that I reserved my ticket for tonight. My confirmation e-mail even said it was for tonight. I double – triple – checked that."
Johnson took the crumpled ticket and glanced over it with a soft, "Hm." He motioned for Tim to follow him through another door in to a dark office. "If you could, pull up your confirmation e-mail," Johnson requested, pointing to a computer.
Tim slid in to the seat and logged into his account. He could feel Johnson's eyes on him, watching in skepticism as he pulled up his account. Tim had even begun to doubt his own claims. He grinned in satisfaction when he pulled up the confirmation e-mail and saw that it did indeed confirm his ticket reservation for tonight.
"Hm," Johnson once again hummed. He sat down and logged in to his work account. "I don't claim to understand what happened, Mr. McGee. Let me call in our office manager."
It was almost thirty minutes later when both Mr. Johnson and the office manager – a man by the name of Theil – finally came to a conclusion: a computer glitch had changed Tim's reservation with that of another user who had reserved a ticket for the following week. The two of them had both reserved a ticket for the same seat – though for two different nights – almost simultaneously. The other person had soon cancelled his reservation and it had been snatched up by someone else.
"I so apologize, Mr. McGee," Mr. Johnson told him sincerely. "We will give you a full refund, of course. We'd simply let you in, but we are sold-out tonight."
Tim shrugged, trying not to let his irritation show. Even if there were room, the show was already fifteen minute in and he didn't want to enter the show late. He was just grateful to be getting his money back for the show.
Mr. Johnson handed Tim a receipt for the money that he had been reimbursed. "We do apologize again. We'll have to keep a closer eye on our online box office."
Tim drudged out and hailed a cab. After giving the driver the address of the hotel, Tim flipped open his cell phone to listen to his messages. He'd turned it on silent for the day, not wanting to be interrupted during his vacation time. The screen told him that he had one new message.
"Hey, Timmy, it's Abby! I just wanted to see how you're liking The Windy City. I'm sure you're having a great time. It's been really boring at work lately. I've had to find creative ways to entertain myself. Jethro was really quiet last night. I think he misses you a lot. I've got to go, but I really hope you're having a great time. I'll call you again soon!"
AN: Poor Timmy. Can never catch a break!