When being on time doesn’t matter!

When it’s the wrong day!

Especially when it’s a cold, wintry day and the time for being ‘on time’ is a cruel joke conspired by known dimensions and temperature, to place you on that space-time graph where the parameter is the coldest. When you’re the bluest dot on that graph and a pretty pink dot of a receptionist tells you that the appointment is the following day, being ‘on time’ becomes as useless as a chocolate teapot. Unless, the tea was in the same spot as you on the space-time graph in which case, it would be tea-slurpy and would render itself useless on a cold wintry morning but I digress. There was no time for tea this morning as that would have conflicted with being ‘on time’. Hindsight reveals tea would have been the right choice and I have continued to digress.

Jack Frost is not a depressed mind’s best friend. In fact, Jack Frost is not the best friend of most minds. It’s particularly harsh on the cheer-challenged mind when Mr. Frost decides to celebrate his birthday in April.


It’s tulip time already and the poor things only last about a week or so. They need all the April they can get, which is why April mornings simply have no right to be cold and wintry. However, this morning’s challenge is greater than frost, and April and the short lifespan of tulips- all put together.

This morning falls on the same plane of time as when the management decided to implement incomprehensibly unnecessary repairs to the labyrinth they call an underground parking. The dark hours of this yet undeveloped day hold the challenge of decoding the new ‘exit’ instructions from this labyrinth. Only the existence of a bookie in some sinister back office gauging our panic-stricken souls, narrowly missing on-coming traffic can justify such cryptic instructions.

All decoded and exited, wondering how many were betting against me, Mr. Frost greets me coldly with a spine-chilling howl. Slipping and sliding down the hill and screeching up the hill, the dangerous drive carries on with a growing distrust of those expensive winter tires. In all circumstances where being ‘on time’ matters greatly, there seems to exist a wrestling match between distance and time. The tranquilizing snow and the agitating traffic all siding with distance as the sun decides to take a sick day. The crawling cabbie up ahead has a definite grudge against time, especially against my time.

It’s a nail-biting match and Time wins! Having suffered frost, begrudged April, mourned over tulips, escaped the labyrinth and defeated precarious distances, time wins. At one point, kindness unconventionally inserted itself into oncoming traffic which in turn halted to let me pass. Or was that all part of the cosmic conspiracy?

Having won this match for time, the blue dot skates across the glacial parking lot and enters a tropical conservatory of pink dots. This is when a pitiless and pretty pink dot points out the trivial detail of the date. The melancholy mind manages to voice a pertinent ‘Oh’ and exits the scene to fight all the afore mentioned evils again.

Homeward destination miraculously achieved, depressed mind and it’s owner intact, at least there is the refreshment of hot tea.



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