This is a sad tale I hope my neighbours will forgive me for telling.
Wednesday at noon, I had a big glass of water as I do every day just before eating my lunch here at the newspaper. I then gobbled down my sandwich, drank a big glass of cold milk and headed out for a coffee to go at a shop down the street.
I sat on the park bench in front of The Beacon Herald and sipped my drink while chatting with fellow employees also on their lunch break. But as I had the afternoon off, I was planning to head straight home rather than back into the office.
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Now, the intake of a big glass of water, a big glass of milk and a big cup of coffee in the space of about 30 minutes can have a certain effect on a person which I don’t have to spell out except to say that I am particularly susceptible to this effect. Always have been. Knowing this, therefore, I should have followed my instincts and visited a certain room in the office before I set out on my 20-minute walk home. But I didn’t. Too much trouble. And who can’t hang on for 20 minutes?
Thus encouraged, I rose from the bench and headed off down the street. Two blocks away, I came around a corner and met up with a man trimming grass at the front of his property. I slowed down, he turned off his trimmer and we chatted. About the hard work of keeping a good lawn. About living in the country. About living in the city. A pleasant conversation of about 10 minutes duration.
Ten minutes out of my travelling schedule which set back by half my ETA (estimated arrival time) at my house.
By now, a certain urgency to get home was developing.
Bidding my friend goodbye, I headed off down the sidewalk again, this time at an increased velocity and with a more determined stride.
Nearing the end of that block, I looked up to see a neighbour walking my way, heading downtown. He stopped and I stopped, though I now felt like a man sitting in a car which is teetering on the edge of a cliff.
We talked. He is about to begin major renovations on his house. Being forever interested in renovations, I asked questions. He answered them. The conversation covered a lot of ground over a space of about another 10 minutes.
Ten minutes and 10 minutes are 20 minutes. My original plan called for me being comfortably situated in a certain special room in my house by now. But I was still a good 10 minutes away from it.
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Saying farewell to my neighbour, I now headed homeward once again with an intensity seen on many of the faces of the athletes in the recent Barcelona Olympics. My journey home was now a mission. There could be no further delays.
Just before I reached my block, I began to weigh options, consider alternatives and calculate distances. It occurred to me I may have to knock on a stranger’s door and ask for a favour but it was a way out I didn’t want to take.
Finally, down the homestretch I marched, leaning forward as if battling against a gale force wind, eyes down, arms pumping, strides long. Off in the distance, I could see the roof of my house. Tears welled up in my eves in anticipation.
But then, from somewhere near, I heard my name being called. I turned, and there in the doorway of the house seven houses from mine, was a neighbour inviting me in to see the latest antique she had bought.
Now, this is the ridiculous position that extreme politeness will drive a person to at times.
There I stood in her kitchen, near to fainting, admiring her beautiful, old sideboard and mirror.
This inspection took – you guessed it – about 10 minutes.
On the rest of the trip home, I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with the world. I felt like a fugitive from justice, trying to make it across the state line.
Eventually the key in my shaking hand unlocked my door and soon the world was right again.
Since then, I have found myself appreciating everything so much more. The flowers, the trees.
The car ride to work.
©1992 Jim Hagarty
