Slow Death

I was in the worst kind of fix the other night, That is to say that it felt like it at the time, but it was the sort of thing where perspective was hard to come by. This is what happened. I'd gotten the opportunity to be a guest writer on Top Story Weekly, of which I've written in the past. This was the second time for me, and it was even more special this time that I got to do it. The way it works is that you go to a pitch session to present your ideas. After some feedback, you develop some into sketches, some of which are picked to actually do after a read through. So this thing happened while I was headed to the pitch session.

Everything was fine as I left the house. I had my needed writing materials, the most precious of which were the ideas I had to present. I had left in enough time to get there- just enough time. The bus itinerary I'd worked out would get me there a few minutes before I needed to be there. Things started going awry quickly, though. The first bus was a bit late. It finally showed up just in time to still get me to the second bus in time. At least if it had not become even more late it would have been in time.

Unfortunately, the bus hit bad traffic in the area of the Hollywood Bowl, a performance venue renowned as much for its way of snarling local roads in congestion as for any bands that ever played there. By the time the bus got near there, we were not moving. It became evident that I would now not be in time to catch the second bus. I started formulating a new plan to get myself to the pitch session on time. I concluded that if I stayed on the present bus to its terminating point, I could still walk the remaining mile and a half fast enough to get there on time.

Unfortunately, the bus took so long in passing through the traffic jam that this plan too was scuttled. Even after the jam the bus managed to be slower than average. I now was resigned to being a few minutes late, and figured that a continued struggle to be on time could only result in me being even later, so I chose to bend like the willow rather than break like the oak. This did not work out for me, sadly.

I got off as originally planned, but to catch the bus following the one that would have gotten me there on time. This one would get be there 13 minutes later: little enough time that it maybe wouldn't even warrant comment. That is to say that if it had been on time it would have gotten me there 13 minutes late. Unfortunately, it proved to be running at least as late as the first bus I was on, if not more so. I was by this point an absolute basket case. By the time the bus came, I was furious at the whole world and hyperventilating badly. I was especially mad at Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie, whose music was responsible for the crowds at the Hollywood Bowl.

Everything was running slow that night. Every bus, every train, every walk signal. It took me time to summon someone to let me in the apartment building hosting the pitch session. All told, I wound up some fifty minutes late to a 90 minute long pitch session, and I'm positive that I aged a minimum of months in the space of a couple hours. It was a trying time during which I could not find perspective to save my life, but I survived it and I pray that I can do better the next time, but I can't stand to be late. I can't stand it. My skin crawls and I can't breath. Being late destroys me, and while that's an outsized reaction, I do mostly manage to be punctual, which is a good quality outside of parties.