You’re going to be late for work.
It’s the second time this week already.
The week that started yesterday.
Living only two blocks away from work is terrible.
You can put off getting up until the very last minute.
Then, the kettle takes a little longer than usual to boil.
Or sometimes the shower doesn’t heat up quite as quickly.
Or on other days the toast sustains third-degree burns and you need to make a second round...
It’s a terrible, terrible thing, not having to commute.
So you’re going to be late.
This time, you had trouble summoning the courage to get out from under your nice warm duvet.
And, because you’re late and frowning and not looking around as you rush along the street, someone stops you.
They need directions.
They take ages to find the bit of paper where they wrote down the address they’re looking for.
All the while apologising for the trouble.
The place is easy enough to find, just take the first left and you’re there.
But they don’t understand your directions, so you have to repeat them, slowly, a hundred times or so.
Thus wasting all of the very valuable three minutes you desperately needed to get to work in time.
And they then thank you profusely.
There goes another whole minute.
No point in running now. If you’re going to be late, you might as well be really late.
The building door is never cooperative, and today is no exception.
Both lifts are on the top floor.
You press the call button.
After a few million years, both lifts arrive at the same time.
You need the second floor, but of course it will stop at the first floor too.
Quick, quick, clock in !
You’re three minutes early.