I am a perpetually late person. I’m talking 5-10 minutes late. Grabbing coffee at 3? See you at 3:08. Dinner reservations at 7? More like 7:11 and can we have that table by the window?
It’s not my fault. I was born late. Three weeks late, to be exact.
And, as I’ve paid more attention to whether my fashionable lateness is truly a problem in life — I’ve realized that it’s not. You know who is the problem, though? Early birds. Yeah. It’s true. I’ve sat in my hair stylist’s chair when her next appointment comes in 25 minutes early and is all, “Ohhh, I know I’m early — I just came from getting my oil changed…” and my hair stylist is like W T F. Because, now that person will sit there in the lounge and stare and will be asked by everyone who works there what stylist she’s waiting for. Same in doctor’s offices. I’ve worked for many and we couldn’t stand when patients came super early and clogged the waiting room, chatting with other patients about things like how their surgery wasn’t successful but they hope it goes better for them. Plus, HIPAA.
Of course, there are times I make sure I’m on time and even early if I’m asked to be early. I’m not purposely disrespectful, jeeze. I just don’t think many things are worth driving like a maniac to get to, or rushing out the door while freaking out, for just a few minutes difference.
This line of thinking was fully embraced in California, btw — where everyone was like, ‘no worries, s’all chill, glad you’re here’ and I intend to keep that piece of Cali with me wherever I go…
…where I will arrive an average of 7 minutes “late.”