How Being Late Makes You More Late

There is a rule somewhere out in the universe that states “Those who are late shall remain late”. You don’t realize exactly how long things take until you need to do them quickly. Then somehow the simple act of trying to do them quickly makes them take longer. That’s the rule.

For example, my first day of senior year college I was getting ready to head to my extremely-awkward-11:40AM-start-time class and I couldn’t find my mask. Everything else was set. I had my assignments done, I had my clothes on, I looked in the mirror four times, and I used the same motion to push a single piece of hair back to where it should be each time. I was ready to go. Except, I had misplaced my mandatory mask, which is the panic equivalent nowadays to not being able to find your wallet. SO, I was panickin’. I hate being late to places, ESPECIALLY, on the first day of whatever the thing is. It just isn’t a good look.

It was 11:18 and I was looking everywhere. I really didn’t wanna ask any of my roommates if they’ve seen my mask because any time I’ve ever asked if anyone has seen anything it becomes more time-consuming to get into the conversation that follows. I have not once asked “Hey have you seen my thing that I’m looking for?” and they’ve quickly responded with “Oh yeah, I have seen that thing you are looking for and I know it is in this very specific spot,” and I’ve found it. Instead it’s always “Uh no, I don’t think so…when did you lose it?” or some other unhelpful question, and then I’d have to annoyingly rack my brain for when I think I lost it. Then I would answer them and get an “I’ll keep an eye out for it.” I have never had anyone “keep an eye out” for anything and then find it in my life. We have both just wasted each other’s time with that conversation. Sometimes, and this is rare, they will offer to help you look for it. Has anyone ever “looked” with you before? It’s uncomfortable. You and that person are essentially going around in circles half-lifting up items that the thing you’re looking for would not be under. And then it becomes silent with the occasional “I checked there”. Nothing gets found and you both just feel defeated and uneasy. So I avoided all of that.

I decided to check upstairs, which, living with five other roommates, was the conversation-zone. My roommate, Matt asked me, “What’s up?” and I replied, “I’m late for class.” When I am late I take on an unintentional cross tone. You know when you are late and every little thing just becomes irritating? Matt answered with an equally testy and sarcastic “Alright good talk." That made me even more enraged. I became mad that he just got mad, so we were both just mad.

It was 11:25. The incredibly inconvenient walk from my apartment to my class was at least 15 minutes, so I was going to be late if I didn’t find my mask right away. I scanned the kitchen one more time and saw it. It was on the counter in a spot that perfectly blended in with every one of the surrounding items. I put it on even though I didn’t need to because I wasn’t outside.

My unnecessarily-masked self went back downstairs to get my backpack. I quickly entered my room and scraped my thumb on the side of my door. The adrenaline of having to leave hid the pain well, but once I looked at it, the cut was dripping blood. It was a big enough cut where I couldn’t not put a Band-Aid on it.

Have you ever been in a RUSH trying to put a Band-Aid on?

There is no “fast” way to put a Band-Aid on. It’s bad enough you have to deal with the pain of a bloody cut, but then you have to struggle with a Band-Aid for 17 minutes and get even angrier doing so.

I took the box of Band-Aids out of the cabinet. I picked a Band-Aid out of the box but, of course, it was attached to three other Band-Aids and I had to rip it off. I swear there’s no clear and easy way to get the Band-Aid out of its wrapper either. Go try taking the wrapper off of a Band-Aid while also needing to be somewhere and tell me you DON’T rip a little bit of the paper on the sticky side of it, too. So, I took the wrapper off and did that little thing where I correctly try to take the underside paper off without getting a tiny piece of the sticky part stuck to another sticky part but it always fails and I have to pull the sticky part straight again. I then threw the three miniscule papers away at a height where they were definitely going to be affected by air resistance and watched as they fluttered away and all three of them missed the trash can.

With the Band-Aid half stuck around my thumb, I had to awkwardly continue it around the rest of my thumb without actually using my thumb, which happens to be the most helpful and efficient finger when it comes to doing anything ever. I then had just become aware that I had to use the bathroom.

While washing my hands, it took me exactly .2 seconds to remember I had a Band-Aid on as the water was running over it, ready to make it soggy and wet and have it not dry for 8 hours straight. My apartment didn’t have AC either, and with all of this concentration and rushing, I still had my mask on.

I’m sure you can figure out that I was absolutely DRENCHED in sweat by this point.

Once again, I went to grab my backpack, and as I was slinging it on, my water bottle flew out of the side pocket and bounced too many times on the floor. This has happened so many times to me, so why wouldn’t it happen now? As I reached down to grab my water bottle, my half-on backpack slid all the way down my arm and slammed into my bloody soggy, Band-Aided thumb. THAT has ALSO happened so many times (minus the thumb part), so of course it happened when as I was about to be late to class on my first day of senior year.

So, dripping-sweat, throbbing-soaked-thumb me hikes all the way to class. I was 22 minutes late to a class that last names A-M were supposed to be on online for.