By Rawlins Gilliland, KERA 90.1 commentator
http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/kera/local-kera-480474.mp3
Commentary: Late For Work
Dallas, TX –
A friend of mine recently lost his job because he was late for work one too many times. He is relatively new to this country, so I explained that, in the U.S.A., there is a huge emphasis on punctuality in the workplace. I only wish we had spoken sooner, because when I was really young, my being on time for work was an alien concept, like kissing a rabid Chihuahua. Call it youthful rebellion, or blame it on the Circadian clock (mine was clearly set to sleep from 3:00 a.m. to 10:30 a.m.), I was at my best at work from noon until 8. Never mind that I was set to work from 10 to 6.
Before flex time scheduling existed, throughout a series of bosses, I was forced, almost daily, to invent elaborate scenarios to cover my late-to-work tracks. For years, I provided at-home care to an elderly aunt. I leveraged this to explain why beginning the work day at noon was necessary. This worked well until they learned that Blanche had died three years earlier. So, I tightened up and launched a born-again effort to be merely 30-45 minutes late.
One boss was humorless, waiting at the employee entrance daily, so I was challenged to come up with increasingly elaborate fiction. One morning, I performed an animated depiction of how I had almost burned the house down that morning making breakfast, when the bacon spatters created a flashy grease fire. I was able to recycle that story over the years, as bosses changed, until the nitrates backlash made it un-cool to be frying bacon. I needed fresh stories.
Finally, I was put on HR probation. Immediately, I was 30 minutes late, again. Not a good thing when one is about to be fired for tardiness. I needed heavy ammunition for this one, a go-for-the-jugular tale to throw them off and neutralize their wrath. "I hit a dog," I said, emulating a slow-simmer hysteria.
"What?" she sneered.
"Driving to work - a dog!" I said, pantomiming a Martha Graham dance sequence of robust dry heaves.
Heh, this was my third warning! Cut me some slack here. They surrendered. I kept my job, and became successful.
But, like Scheherazade, my story could never end. To subsequent bosses I sadly recounted how I paid an entire home-loan for landscaping. Only to realize, leaving for work, gazing in horror; my freshly planted yard had become a lunar landscape. "They stole my shrubs!" I wailed.
"They stole your shrubs?" they snorted.
"Yes! They even rolled up the grass! I called the police who photographed the holes!"
Years later, I read that this has actually happened in Dallas. But we're talking the early 1980's here.
Ultimately, talent and determined hard work triumphed over untimeliness. I rose through the ranks, offering others flexible 8 hour workdays, like anyone working 9 to 5. This frees people like me to use their creative minds to write commentaries. And who knows? I might help save the job of some panicked listener, who's desperate for an original excuse because, once again, you're late for work!
Start with the grease fire. With the Atkins diet, bacon is in again!
Rawlins Gilliland is a writer from Dallas. If you have opinions or rebuttals about this commentary, call (214) 740-9338 or email us.