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stoutfellowI have something like a phobia about being late. It's not a true phobia - it's the result of enough nights spent in airports after missing a flight - but it infects many parts of my life. For instance, the bus stop where I catch the bus for work is only about five minutes' walk from my house, and the bus doesn't come (this time of year) until about the :55 mark, but I make a point of leaving the house at about the half hour.
This morning, though, I was running a little late; it was about 9:35 when I left the house. I'd gone about half a block when a small white dog raced past me. Buster was out. After a muttered imprecation, I put my shoulder bag down and hurried back to the house, where I found that the front door hadn't latched shut, and had swung back open about fifteen degrees. (Gracie was standing a little way down the corridor, looking at the door. Fortunately, she hadn't taken the opportunity to bolt.) I grabbed a leash, pulled the door shut this time, and took off after Buster. (Half of my mind was composing Plan B, about how to get to campus in time for my 11:00 class if I missed the bus.) Fortunately, he only led me on a block-and-a-half chase before giving up and trotting back to me. I clipped the leash on and led him, puffing (me, not him), back home. I dropped him off, went back and grabbed my bag, and jogged s-l-o-w-l-y back towards the bus stop.
I had just about regained my breath when the bus arrived.
Sometimes (quasi-)phobias pay off.
This morning, though, I was running a little late; it was about 9:35 when I left the house. I'd gone about half a block when a small white dog raced past me. Buster was out. After a muttered imprecation, I put my shoulder bag down and hurried back to the house, where I found that the front door hadn't latched shut, and had swung back open about fifteen degrees. (Gracie was standing a little way down the corridor, looking at the door. Fortunately, she hadn't taken the opportunity to bolt.) I grabbed a leash, pulled the door shut this time, and took off after Buster. (Half of my mind was composing Plan B, about how to get to campus in time for my 11:00 class if I missed the bus.) Fortunately, he only led me on a block-and-a-half chase before giving up and trotting back to me. I clipped the leash on and led him, puffing (me, not him), back home. I dropped him off, went back and grabbed my bag, and jogged s-l-o-w-l-y back towards the bus stop.
I had just about regained my breath when the bus arrived.
Sometimes (quasi-)phobias pay off.
