Being there

I know that some people are never late.  In fact, I am well-acquainted with two of them—lovely people who effortlessly manage to arrive a few graceful minutes early to anything and everything, unhurried and unharried.  Although I make an effort to be on time and usually succeed, I am definitely not one of those people.

My tendency to be late is the result of two things: chronically underestimating the time it takes to travel from one point to another, and an unconscious dislike of the "wasted" time spent waiting for things to begin (on some deep level, I must think that the ideal arrival time is three minutes till).  At this point I am pleasantly early about 40% of the time, punctual or just a couple of minutes late 40% of the time, and definitely late 20% of the time.  I'm proud of this, but it requires constant effort and a bit of self-trickery.

And it also requires the occasional hustle.  Last week I had a doctor's appointment at 2:30 pm, for which I left plenty early.  I took the bus down Lexington, got off around 60th, and walked to 2nd Avenue.

Only to realize that my doctor's office isn't actually on East 60th, it is on East 37th.  Whoops!  In my defense, the streets look remarkably similar—they are both on the north side of a large traffic-related piece of infrastructure (the Queensboro Bridge and the Midtown Tunnel, respectively)—and I had mixed up the visual memories of the two blocks.  He's a specialist, and I've only been to his office once.

But however understandable the mistake was, it was 2:18 and I was 23 blocks away from where I needed to be.  I usually walk a block per minute.  I had a problem.

My solution was to walk two blocks and run two blocks, and at this rate I managed to arrive, a bit pink in the face, at 2:32.  Not early, as I would have liked, but not terribly late either.  A borderline case.  To get a sense of what I looked like, running in my non-running clothes while clutching a tote bag and a large umbrella, just imagine a penguin in a sack race, and double the awkwardness.  Yep, I was that graceful.

Looking at these pictures is reminding me that 2nd Avenue on a grey afternoon is not a pretty sight.  Bleh.  Spring, where are you?!