I had planned to write at least one post during Linda’s absence from the Stream of Consciousness Saturday promptmaster role. I wanted to show some appreciation for the wonderful volunteers who filled in for her. But… There really isn’t a good ‘but’ here, I could have done it. Then again, I was working on some other posts, I was busy at work…
“I ran out of gas. I… I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts! It wasn’t my fault, I swear to God!”
I am glad to see this particular prompt ‘excuse’ because I was hoping to be able to write for the SoCS this weekend. Like Linda, I have been on the road. Not as far (I think) as Linda and not for as long (of this I’m sure) as her, but on the road is on the road. It’s hard to write while traveling for business. It’s harder to write while traveling for leisure, unless you’re traveling with my daughter and you’re a morning person like me. We travel and we stay up late but I still get up before 6:30 am. She…well let’s just leave it at: she doesn’t.
So I have time to write. We try to stay in hotels that have a desk where I can work and angle my laptop away from her bed. The best hotel is the Hyatt Place North Shore in Pittsburgh in which the rooms include a lounge area that is separate from the bedroom area. They aren’t separate rooms, in that you can angle the TV to be seen from either, but the desk is isolated from the sleeping area. It’s the best hotel because it sits between Heinz Field and PNC Park.
Being a morning person isn’t my fault either. My excuse is my father. I’ve mentioned this before, the man was an early bird. He was a mailman and he started work at 6:30 am. That meant that he left for work at 5:45. It was only a 15 minute ride to work, but he wanted to be early. He wanted to get his coffee, line up the stuff he needed for his day, read the paper and be ready to work at 6:30. None of this running through the door and stamping that timecard at 6:50:55 for him. 6:50:55 you ask? The Post Office ran on military time. Actually, I was never in the military so for all I know they ran on a postal variant of military time. In any case, our time clock had 100 divisions during each hour, even though it had a normal analog clock face.
I worked at that same post office during several summers. On the rare occasion that my father and I were both working the 6:30 – 3:30 “day shift,” we would ride together, a.k.a. I would drive him to work. He spent most of his life behind the wheel of something and he hated to drive. Both my brother and I had been told “the minute you get your permit, you’re driving me everywhere” and that threat / promise came to fruition. Of course, when you’re 16, there’s no such thing as too much driving. However, when you’re 19, there is such a thing as too dang early in the morning. The idea that I was taking a job that often required me to start work at 3:00 AM seemed absurd. However, the fact that that job paid more than three times the then current minimum wage and that was not absurd at all.
Somewhere during the course of several summers, I became a morning person. I became my father. I started getting up and going to work early. To this day, I am usually at work an hour before I need to be. I am on the flex-time schedule of 7:30 am to 3:30 pm but I feel late if I am not at my desk by 6:30. I like to get my coffee, take care of anything that is really bugging me and to catch up on things.
So there you have it, that’s my excuse. My father activated those dormant genes that he knew he had passed along to me.