Thursday morning. I'm at work. The phone rings twice. I answer it.

Me: Hello?
Mystery Caller: How spontaneous can you be?
Me: Uh, pretty spontaneous, I guess. Who is this?
MC: You already know. Go ask your boss for the day off.
Me: What? The whole day?
MC: Do it.
Me: Okay. Just a second.

I set down the phone and hold an internal debate. Time passes. I ask my boss. Clouds roll by. He says okay. A copying machine collates and staples. I return to my cubicle and find two baseball tickets on my desk. San Diego vs. San Francisco. I pick up the phone again.

Me: My boss approved.
MC: Good. Now find somebody to go with you.
Me: But wait, how am I supposed to repay you?
MC: Just have a great time.
Me: Are you sure?
MC: Hurry or you'll miss the game.

The mystery caller hangs up. I'm left with a dial tone.

That is how (more or less) my sister and I were able to watch the Padres demolish Jason Schmidt by a score of 9-4. On the bright side, we saw it from the AAA club level where one can order food and drinks right from one's seat. The restrooms and vendor areas were nicer than any I had ever seen at a ballpark. Carpeting, artwork, modest tables and cushioned chairs for eating and full service bars. It was a completely different baseball experience, one I'll likely never have again unless I: a) win the lotto b) go into debt or c) get more mystery calls.

The highlight of the game was seeing Rod Beck pitch in the eighth inning. The former Giants closer was and remains one of my favorite pitchers. His distinctive mustache, signature swinging right arm and number 47 were still there, but thankfully, his mullet was gone. San Francisco lost, but I had a great time. Thank you, Mystery Caller.