Being Late

There are few aspects of life that really irritate me. Seriously irritate me on a primal level.

Being totally out of Breyer's ice cream is one of them.

No new episodes of Real Housewives of Orange County is another.

I don't have an official written down list of irritations in descending or ascending order, mostly because I just now thought of it. I'd like to do it, but I'm busy making chili and blogging right now. Besides, I've discovered that what irks me operates on a sliding scale, is totally fluid, and bound to change from hour to hour.

But one aspect of life is perpetually on my list of great annoyances and it is guaranteed to really wind me up.

Being late.

To clarify, I loathe being late. Being late brings out the very worst in me, but (surprisingly) I don't really mind when others are late.

I know several people who maintain a "So what?" attitude towards being late and oh, how I envy them. I really do.

In the grand scheme of things, is being fifteen minutes late to a movie really worth stomping out to the car, slamming the door, and laying on the horn until someone finally shuts off Modern Marvels and puts on his shoes?

Nope.

This insane ability to go completely bat shit whenever we are late is not an attractive quality. I'm sure my husband didn't put "ability to throw a giant hissy fit when running late" on his list of attributes he hoped to find in a spouse.

At least, I'm pretty sure he didn't.

But there it is.

To be completely honest, I really don't like being on time for things. I like to be a few minutes early. Being exactly on time feels too much like being late to me. I like to be early, scope out a good seat, settle in, and wait ten minutes for the fun to begin.

Which, when going to the movies, means sitting in my seat, snarfing down popcorn quickly so I can get a free refill before the movie actually starts. I figured if I'm going to pay $150 for a small bag of movie popcorn, I'm going to take full advantage of the free refills.

Today I was not going to a meeting, teaching a class, or going to the movies. I had no plans so important the being late would make the world stop rotating.

Today I was meeting a friend for lunch.

I thought I had left my house in plenty of time to arrive at the restaurant about ten minutes before the appointed time.

On a normal day, my departure time would have been early enough for me to get to the restaurant ten minutes early.

But today I ended up being a few minutes late. Which totally flipped my picnic table.

Why was I late you ask?

I got stuck behind a tractor. Which is a totally acceptable reason for being late when you live in the Midwest.

People ask "Why were you late?"

You said "I got stuck behind a tractor."

People say "Yep. That happens, especially in the Spring or Fall."

However, being behind a tractor for 4.3 miles was enough to send me over the edge.

It was enough to honk me off.

It was enough to make my blood pressure rise.

It was enough to turn me into a neo-Maxi zoom dweebie.

Not my finest hour.

And no, I don't hate tractors or farmers.

I just hate being late.

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