Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

I was born three days late—and I’ve been trying to catch up ever since.

I don’t really like to be late for things, but it happens. I try to budget my time, really I do. I don’t like getting up in the mornings—probably because I may have just gotten to sleep an hour before the damned alarm went off. But, I set my clock ahead by 15 minutes because of this. And I set the alarm for about 25 minutes before I actually need to get up, so I have time to ease into rising. I shower the night before to save time (don’t worry; I do a quick refresher wash in the AM). I even occasionally lay out my outfit ahead of time.

Since I’ve developed all of the fatigue and pain issues, I’ve really had to allow myself time. I just can’t sail out of bed like I used to…

See, I try….. And generally I’m pretty good— it’s other people that fowl me up.

Like jerks that see you waiting to pull out of a side street and they don’t put their turn signal on. Then they turn right next to you, and you’re stuck. Or a-holes who are so busy texting or whatever they don’t realize the light has turned green. Then they get through and I don’t. Or dillweeds who pull out in front of you and go 2 miles an hour. You have to hit the breaks—invariably, when you check the rearview mirror, there’s not a soul behind you.

Like, why would PennDOT start road work during the morning rush? The last thing we all need as we drag our sorry asses to work is to get stuck waiting to get around a lane closure on a portion of a road. I know they have to fix stuff, but can’t they wait until everyone’s at work?

The one that really drives me nuts is the wusses who brake at every curve or hill. Sheesh, learn how to drive for heaven’s sake. One time my friend showed up almost 30 minutes late to our shift at a local theatre company’s box office. He just looked at me and said “I hate when people look on the speed limit as a mandate instead of a suggestion.”

That whole getting to work thing has been my biggest challenge (I have rarely been late to the theatre). I remember slinking into the wallcovering store where I worked about 5 minutes late one day and sheepishly going “Boy that Schuylkill Expressway is a bitch.” I lived about 8 miles from the store via all residential side streets. Hey, if other people could use it, why couldn’t I?

My kids were in nursery school when I started that job—I worked 2 evenings a week and Saturdays. One evening I was getting dressed for work and my son got hurt. I blurted out “I didn’t plan comforting time.” as I took him in my arms. I called the store and said I’d be about 15 minutes late.

In my own defense, I must state that if I am late arriving (like I said, morning is not my strong suit), I will shorten my lunch break or stay past my allotted time to make up for it. I never short-change people.

I was born three days late. It’s been 58 years, but I think I’ve just about caught up.

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