I’m nervous, and anxiety is drilling into my stomach. The reason for this rush into emotion is I’m about to go into battle with an unidentified number of people with whom I am in competition for buying entry into the Monterey Bay Aquarium. My browser has been open for weeks, so I don’t forget that this morning at 9:00 a.m., Pacific Time the aquarium starts offering members reservations starting May 1st. This members-only reopening runs through the 14th, and Caroline and I are booked for everything else surrounding the momentous event.

So here I am, 26 minutes before 9:00 a.m., logged into our account and ready to pounce, just as I imagine a thousand others are ready to do too.

The last time I was in this situation was a couple of years ago when a popular Eurorack synthesizer manufacturer was about to offer a new unit. The first bidder was going to be able to nab serial# 0001, and I was certain it had to be me. While I won that distinction, I later learned that there were 5 of us on it, but I was the one able to complete the transaction in under a few seconds. Expert Shopper Level achieved.

Twenty minutes remaining, and I’m feeling over-caffeinated. Our member number sits in another window should I need to grab it at the last second. My credit card is on the counter should auto-fill fail me at a pivotal moment. Two browser windows for the aquarium, one on the home page and the other on our member page. Caroline is talking to me in chat, wishing me luck; she wore her pendant from Newport, Oregon, to work today to carry the luck of the ocean with her in the hopes that we’ll do well in the high-tension stakes of scoring entry on one or more of these coveted days.

With only 12 minutes remaining, I am barely able to control the impulse to refresh the web pages. I’m anticipating that when they update the site, it might kick out those of us already logged in, allowing the system a full reset. My excitement spills into nausea, wrecking me as I worry if my fingers will perform the way they need to in 9 minutes from now. Then the thought occurs to me: how accurate is the time on my computer? Oh yeah, it’s synced to my phone, so I’m solid here. Eight minutes and my breathing feels shallow. Might I pass out?

Invisible enemies on a horizon we cannot see are poised to enter the arena in less than five minutes. Is the crowd going wild? I cannot hear to roar of those who are about to witness our fight to the death. My time as a gladiator seems to only affect me.

The site is timing out…is the crush so great? I’m also on the phone waiting for the next available service rep. My heart is rapidly sinking. It’s now 9:17 a.m., and not only am I trying to refresh the browser, but I’m on hold with the aquarium while minutes are ticking by.

Three or four calls later, after being disconnected, I finally get through, but by this time, I’ve already looked up our options for canceling the eight days of lodging reservations already made. It’s 9:40 when Nicole in member services answers the phone and reassures me that she can take care of my reservation requests. In less than a minute, we have our spots guaranteed for two consecutive days of entry to the aquarium. Thirty seconds later, the email pops into my inbox, and the tickets are here. We have won this round of gladiatorial battle in the area of information.