Late is Relative

I’ve been working at my current job for four years now. In the past four years, I have been on time to work about five times. On average I roll into work fifteen to thirty minutes late. Why have I not been fired yet? SOB, Son of the Boss.

This morning I rolled out of bed pretty late. It was so late that my mom was up and about already, which is unusual because of her drinking problem. (My mom’s retired, but my dad and I like to tell her she does nothing all day but hit the sauce.)

Me: “I’m so late right now.”
Mom: “You’re not late if you’re there before the boss.”
“Is he still sleeping?”
Mom: “Yup.”

Enlightenment struck. Instead of trying to get to work on time, I should be making the boss late. Each night I will hide his keys and toothbrush. Some booby traps might help too, a snake pit or maybe a pipe organ made of human bones where the floor falls out from under you if you don’t play the correct notes.

And to think I’ve been doing it wrong all these years.