On The Importance Of Being Late

Today was one of those days where when I run late by about 15 minutes, it ends up becoming almost an hour late to work. I've gotten in the habit of calling in and overshooting my expected arrival time. So if I'm late catching the bus, and I know my commute is an hour door to door, I'll thus call in 45 minutes late to give myself some leeway.

But every once in a while you get screwed. Like today. I ended up almost an hour late and recieved "the talk" -- you know, the one where your boss pulls you aside and lectures you about how everyone needs to be on time or it unglues the very fabric morale of your department? I should know, I've given this one before.

I hate being on the recieving end, though. Ugh.

Ah, no big. I think it's funny that it always happens right after I've had a day off and I'm fully rested. Go figure, huh? I can be on time for every other day of the week except after my day off.

Well, on the bright side, I get a chance to bartend this weekend. I sure miss those days of slinging drinks and shots. But that's another story.

No, I actually like my life the way it is. I'm not working in such a volitile industry anymore. I'm not drunk five nights a week. I actually like waking up at 6am, not going to bed at 6. Call it a side effect of growing up. I don't know.

Am I really all grown up? I don't know. Sometimes I think, "Yeah, I pay bills, I eat my vegetables, I brush my teeth, I must be grown up." Then at work, people say to me, "You're still a baby. Blah, blah, blah..." I guess I don't want to wake up one day and realize that all the fun I wanted to have has been replaced with a new set of responsibilities. I don't want to realize that this whole time I've really been sleeping in when I should have been out there having a good time. I don't want to be late for life. I used to think 25 was young.

Maybe it's really old.