A manager of a small business recently told me that she was waiting for an employee to start his shift. “He’s scheduled to start at 6:00 p.m., and he always walks through the door at exactly the time he’s supposed to start,” she said. I looked at her for a moment, then said, “That causes you anxiety?” Of course, I thought of my own anxieties with regard to being “on time.”
When I was a young teenager, I was employed as a page in the closed stacks of the University of Pittsburgh’s library. I got the job because my mother was a housekeeper for one of the university’s regents. I worked there every day after leaving high school, and on most Saturdays. It was easy for me to get to work before my 4:00 p.m. start: school let out at 3:30, and my school was only about a half-mile from the university. The weekends were more difficult. I lived about 2 miles from the University, and I had to figure out how much time I needed to walk to work. I was early the first few times, but even after I figured out the timing for my trip, I still showed up early. I continued to do that with every job I had for about another 47 years.
I was a manager of personnel for many of the jobs I’ve had over the years, and I always stressed to the people who reported to me, the importance of promptness. I was not a rigid autocrat; a gentle reminder was usually sufficient to encourage adherence to company policy with regard to “start times.” And when a manager expressed some uneasiness about an employee’s ultra-compliance with his start time, I was reminded of my own uneasiness with an associate’s work timing.
At a small-loan office I managed in Southern Indiana in the late 1970s, two assistants and a clerical person worked with me. One of the assistants was a woman whose work ethic I admired and rewarded, though she had one bad habit: she arrived at work each day at exactly 5 minutes after our 8:30 a.m. start time. In other words, late. I always got to work one hour early, and the other personnel arrived well before 8:30. But this one person, despite my urging, suggestions, and stern disapproval, never arrived at work on time. I ground my teeth to powder over this behavior, and one day, sitting at my desk, I watched as the other employees arrived. The clerical employee and one assistant arrived and meandered around the office, catching up with each other on the previous evening’s events while they made, and drank, coffee. My ever-late associate arrived promptly at 8:35 and immediately sat down at her desk and started to telephone customers. I never again brought up with her, the subject of time: in her 7 hours and 55 minutes, she worked harder, and more efficiently, than anyone else in the office.
Despite my acknowledgement that I may have been “straining at gnats,” I still demand of myself, fealty to the clock. I am a member of several teams that play in billiard leagues, and some of my teammates are less committed to the time schedule established by the league. This irritates me, but I am not captaining any of those teams, so I can do nothing about it, except grind to powder the few teeth I have left.
As I submit this column three days later than I should have, I hope that my editor recognizes my commitment to my craft and does not grind her dentures to powder over a matter of time.