Each morning I stay in bed 3-7 minutes longer than I should, inevitably throwing off the rest of my morning until I get to work. This has consequently made me late to work fairly often by 5-10 minutes and I don’t like to be late to work, regardless of how flexible my employers are, so I then tried to come up with different ways to cut down on my prep time.
Last week I started picking my clothes out the night before. This sounds silly, especially since I could come to work in sweatpants or a clown costume and it wouldn’t matter, I rarely interact face to face with anyone outside the office, but in order to keep some semblance of self I feel compelled to at least put on jeans and a sweater. This little compulsion was costing me 3-5 minutes each morning, so this helped. Until it got to be really cold in the mornings and I realized that this could translate into a little bit longer in bed.
This week’s tactic has been to throw my entire body up into sitting position the minute my alarm goes off. If the cold air has already hit my skin, it seems as though I have a 70% better chance of getting out of bed (the other 30% is for the extra cold days when the air hits me and I say ‘screw this, I’m not ready for the cold’).
Today should have gone off without a hitch. Unfortunately I woke up by hitting my elbow into the dresser. I was gaging my progress by expressway exits and doing well, well enough to stop at the deli and reward myself with an egg sandwich.
And that’s where it all went wrong. So this is what I have to say to the girl who waited on me this morning:
Working at a deli is all about multi-tasking. people go to a deli for quick service, good food, and cheap prices. This morning you provided two of those three. Why you felt the need to put in each grill order individually, rather than taking several at once and getting them all to cook on the grill simultaneously, is beyond me.
So, yes, I was opening and closing my phone hoping that the snapping noise would give you a hint as to my impatience. Yes, I was rolling my eyes as you carried the bag of rolls from one end of the deli counter to the other instead of checking on the progress of my sandwich (which judging by the temperature when I ate it at my office, was most certainly ready at that point). And yes, I was short with you when you asked ‘Is that it?’ My ‘Yeah’ was meant to escape in that staccato burst because it was already 7:01 and you’re still ringing me up.
So here’s to you deli girl, may it take you forever to get your first drink at happy hour tonight or your take-out food for dinner. May the servers wherever you go tonight have your same sense of urgency on the job.
Wasn’t being late my fault in the first place, you might argue, yes. Is my anger misplaced? Absolutely. But where’s the fun in acknowledging that?