I hate when someone is late. And what I mean is that I REALLY REALLY REALLY HATE HATE HATE IT. And it leads to irritable pacing and mumbling to myself, which I don’t particularly enjoy nor does my family.
Before I had kids, I had a zero tolerance policy for lateness. By two minutes after our meeting time, I was debating whether I should even open the door to you.
Wait, back up even MORE years, and you’ll find the Alex who used to be late ON PURPOSE. Because I hated waiting, and if I was late to everything, I NEVER HAD TO WAIT. GENIUS! Until one day, I grew up and realized that putting people through something I hated made me a sociopath.
So I began to show up on time. AND EXPECTED EVERYONE ELSE TO SHOW UP WITH ME.
Now, when I had children, I chilled out. And what I mean by CHILLED OUT is I decided that five minutes late is understandable. Anything more than that should be accompanied by a phone call preparing me for your lateness. And after fifteen minutes and no phone call, I’m assuming that you aren’t going to show. And when you do finally show up, I’m going to wonder if you broke your phone or your hand attempting to call me.
Look, if I am running more than five minutes late, which happens more often than I’d like to admit, I always call. ALWAYS. I feel like cell phone have allowed us to be completely anti-social by not having to talk because I’m SO BUSY talking to my Facebook page and completely rude by texting while carrying on a conversation with our in-front-of-us friends — both of which I appreciate — however, they should AT LEAST have mitigated lateness sans phone call. In other words, stop checking Twitter or putting socks on your kid and call me with a I’m running late heads up.
But I imagine that there are late-ies who read this blog. And I’m always looking for opportunities to grow more tolerant and understanding. Well, I’m always being forced into growing by my desire to be happy and spend less time hating people. (potato potahto)
I need to know. Why are you late? Why can’t you call? Am I being too hard on my fellow people? Am I still a sociopath? Or could you and I be BFFs because we’d always arrive RIGHT ON TIME?
So I ask: Do you run late for everything?
Photo credit: simpologist on Flickr