09/07/2014 06:13 pm ET Updated Dec 06, 2017


I am drinking my morning espresso, planning another day of making the world a better place, when the dreaded happens.
It's the moment no man is ever ready for.
Not even years of military, civil, and professional training can ever get any man ready for this.
The day all men in time, way before Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, dread.
The phone beeps multiple times in rapid succession.
I think to myself "it is happening."
Is it war? Is it a demanding task? Has the neighbor upstairs gone berserk again?
Much worse.
I down the espresso, not knowing when I'll be back, needing every bit of energy I can possibly get.
The task at hand does not leave my mind.
Should I even brush my teeth?
For the sake of others, I risk it, losing a few extra seconds.
I go to look for the object demanded by headquarters, tumbling through a house managed by a 10-month-old.
Found it!
Socks, jeans, shoes, jacket.
Almost forgot the car keys.
The car opens fast.
Everything seems to be in the way, stopping me of what needs to be done -- the seat in the wrong position, the neighbors parking too close.
"I will not be stopped by these technical matters," I think to myself.
Rapidly reversing, I get out of the drive.
Grey skies, tons of traffic.
Does the entire city go to work at the same time?
It seems like every crossing has at least 10 people waiting to cross when I pass.
All lights are red.
Fear creeps into me -- will I make it or will I be the source of shame for every man out there, no matter of what color, race or religion?
Tunnels, lights, some more lights.
Tons of cars.
The clock is ticking in my head.
I get to the rendezvous point, of course all parking spots are taken.
"This will not stop me now, not so close," I think to myself.
Risking the notorious tow to the end of the city, somewhere near Hasenbergl on Schleißheimerstraße, I run out of the car.
This is a secured location, so I remind myself to breath properly, not to raise too much suspicion.
Thank god the guards know me, opening the door instantaneously.
Or is it just another man, knowing deep inside that another man is at risk?
Never mind about that.
I close my jacket, remembering what I am wearing, being at a public space and all.
Running amok around the complex, I look for the person in danger.
The elevator opens -- here he is!
I won't lose a second, placing the sacred object in the hands of my wife, the boss.
My son has his pacifier firmly attached to his shirt.
No crying ensued in the 20 minutes without it.