Unpunctual Punks

Manners, people. They’re called manners. Some of yas have ‘em - and others I find lacking. Sorely.

Now I’m not gonna place blame where blame’s not due. There’s to be no, “Oh well it’s because my parents were always late everywhere we went” excuse. You are your own person, a grownup (perhaps), and need to start acting like one.

Nor shall I deem it permissible that you “weren’t ready yet”. Or that you had to finish cleaning, or cooking, or eating. Or that you were on the phone or walking your dog or decided to change your outfit (again).

No, nope, nein - not happening. Sorry! You were late and that’s that. Stammer and stutter and excuse all you want - it’s not OK.

(Of course there are those acts of God that no one can help - car accidents, explosive diarrhea, power outages, Titanic on TBS, a sudden cerebral hemorrhage…fine, you have five excuses, but that’s it.)

I’m not perfect, of course I’m not. There have been times that I’ve forgotten an umbrella, or a cardigan, or my lunch, (or my mind) and been a few minuntos behind - it happens. (Even so, in such cases my anxiety levels reach beyond astronomically high points and I make it my prerogative to not be late next time.)

For me, being late is the exception - not the rule.

For others, the opposite is true.

I’m talking about are those tardy tarts that are constantly, consistently, ceaselessly, without fail late - be it to an important date or one that’s second rate. I don’t care. It’s those foes that make being unpunctual the rule and not the exception that I’d like to have my wordy way with.

What is it in your nature that makes you so…so…so selfishly righteous? What part of your genetic makeup enables you to think being late is acceptable? Why do you deem it OK?

I know, I know - I should exhaaaale and let go and not be rushing from one place to the next, one day to the next, one year to the next. That’s not what life is about. Living is enjoying the present, being in the moment, feeling happy where you’re at and what you’re doing.

I know.

But how the hell, might I ask, can I enjoy the ballet, or a fancy schmanse dinner, or the sunset if I’m an hour late? What’s the point of it then? I was there, raring to go see the goddamn sunset, but oh wait, gotta wait for _____. Oh but it’s getting darker…and darker, and aww hell, it’s gone. And still no ______.

Methinks it a sorely sad fact and pathetic universal truth that the only person you can count on 100% is your good old self. Other people disappoint. They let you down. They make you miss previews at the movies, the free food that’s passed at the start of parties, the best spot on the beach, the most spectacular seats at the venue. And boy does it suck.

As I said, I’m the exception, not the rule when it comes to being late. Unfortunately same goes for dealing with said tardy tarts. Loads of people know how to remain cool. Keep calm and carry on. (I think it’s called patience???) I know not how.

I get exceptionally angry if I am made late by someone else’s err. I turn into a bear. A very tall, very blonde, exceedingly grizzly bear who would like to smack you across the bottom with all the oomph I could possibly muster behind my perfectly manicured paws. I wish. Mostly I specialize in seething, scathing looks (just ask Ri, she could tell you a thing or two).

How dare you be late. How dare you make me late. It’s plain rude. Especially because tardiness is so unnecessary!

Put your makeup on in the car. Eat your sandwich while we’re walking. Don’t wait for directions to print - you have an iPhone, dummy! walk + talk. drive + eat. plan + plot + pack. Paint your nails (bravo, Mary Rita!), brush your hair, brush you teeth, change your dress, change your shoes (in the car)…change your mindset.

Being tardy is not a necessary evil - it’s something everyone could do without. Belatedness is a choice. A poor, obnoxious, self-righteous, super selfish, ugly little choice. You can choose to think only of yourself and be late - or you can think of the other people you’re affecting and depending on you to be prompt and punctilious and make a concerted effort to be prompt and punctilious.

I know my vote.