Late
I woke up without the usual, heart racing, cold sweat inducing drone of the modern day digital alram clock in my ear this morning. I looked over to my right to where this buzzer from hell should, SHOULD, have been screaming at me to get up-and-at-em. From the bedside table, the only thing staring back at me was the red glow of the clocks incessent blinking telling me that it is, right now, and has been for some time judging by the height of the sun pouring in from the window to my left, 12 o'clock midnight on the dot. DAMN IT!
Needless to say I was late for work this morning. Strolling in at about my usual pace, trying to remain inconspicuous as I made a course for the timeclock. I hate being late for work. It is the one thing that I cannot, CAN NOT, stand. Tardiness. I do not really know why, thats just the way that I have always been. Ever since my first job at 14 years old I can remember always telling my mother, "hurry up I'm going to be late", as she leisurely strolled out to the garage where she kept her car. It never seemed to bother her like it did me. Never was that big of a deal. It really isn't; I know that. No one at the Library really seems to care one way or the other whether I'm there on time or not. As a matter of fact, I'm not all too sure that it would really matter if I chose to show up at all.
Student assistant jobs are really just there so as to have a warm body filling a chair behind a desk in the event that someone, at 9am on Saturday morning, can't seem to locate the bathroom. The bathroom, it seems worth noting, is behind a big grey door with that universal men's bathroom stick figure on it standing above the word BATHROOM in all caps - also in brail.
I know that I don't have the most important job, I just hate being even the slightest bit late. It's not even like I have to be on time everywhere. I don't mind being 20 minutes late to see the movie, it lets me miss the previews which I loathe, or even to a dinner date or class. It's really just when it comes to work.
I don't know if it is healthy to be so anal about punctuality in the workplace. I don't care. I'm not going to punch myself or anything over it. I won't even think about it once I'm clocked in and sitting behind my desk, playing solitaire on the computer and pretending to care when a patron asks where the third floor is -- at this question I generally just point up without so much as a look up from the computer monitor. It's just the act of punching this card, with that permanent claclunk that the time-clock makes as it prints out, in that extra formal blueish grey, 9:36am Nov 14 2004 when I know that it should very well say 9:00am on the nose or even 5 to 10 minutes before.
Did I mention, or have I, that I grind my teeth? And not just when I sleep either. All the time, especially when I'm late for work.
Needless to say I was late for work this morning. Strolling in at about my usual pace, trying to remain inconspicuous as I made a course for the timeclock. I hate being late for work. It is the one thing that I cannot, CAN NOT, stand. Tardiness. I do not really know why, thats just the way that I have always been. Ever since my first job at 14 years old I can remember always telling my mother, "hurry up I'm going to be late", as she leisurely strolled out to the garage where she kept her car. It never seemed to bother her like it did me. Never was that big of a deal. It really isn't; I know that. No one at the Library really seems to care one way or the other whether I'm there on time or not. As a matter of fact, I'm not all too sure that it would really matter if I chose to show up at all.
Student assistant jobs are really just there so as to have a warm body filling a chair behind a desk in the event that someone, at 9am on Saturday morning, can't seem to locate the bathroom. The bathroom, it seems worth noting, is behind a big grey door with that universal men's bathroom stick figure on it standing above the word BATHROOM in all caps - also in brail.
I know that I don't have the most important job, I just hate being even the slightest bit late. It's not even like I have to be on time everywhere. I don't mind being 20 minutes late to see the movie, it lets me miss the previews which I loathe, or even to a dinner date or class. It's really just when it comes to work.
I don't know if it is healthy to be so anal about punctuality in the workplace. I don't care. I'm not going to punch myself or anything over it. I won't even think about it once I'm clocked in and sitting behind my desk, playing solitaire on the computer and pretending to care when a patron asks where the third floor is -- at this question I generally just point up without so much as a look up from the computer monitor. It's just the act of punching this card, with that permanent claclunk that the time-clock makes as it prints out, in that extra formal blueish grey, 9:36am Nov 14 2004 when I know that it should very well say 9:00am on the nose or even 5 to 10 minutes before.
Did I mention, or have I, that I grind my teeth? And not just when I sleep either. All the time, especially when I'm late for work.
posted by Joshua Skrobarczyk at 11:39 AM
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