Late, again

I have a horrible (more like awkward) habit of being late. I'm (almost) never more than three to four minutes late. It isn't that I have a lack of respect for other people's time. In fact, I think it might be more irritating to me than it is to whomever I'm meeting because it smacks in the face of my OCD tendencies.

For example, I spent an hour yesterday organizing my bumper stickers on Facebook. I spent another fifteen minutes folding and putting away my underwear. What kind of person does that? No one else will ever notice that my bumper stickers are now in an order that makes sense. Just like no one else will ever look into my underwear drawer and be impressed by my neatly folded piles of underwear. But, it makes me feel better knowing that those things are in order.

Because I'm always running late, some might classify my driving as "impatient." Really, I feel this word does a great disservice to my driving style. Road rage doesn't even begin to describe it properly, and it has only gotten worse over the past four years. I thank God every day that I do not own a gun, for, I might not have to worry so much about traffic, and more about not dropping the soap.

I honestly believe that my right foot should be checked for both lead and a special type of magnet that attracts old people. It never fails that on the days that I leave on time, I will get stuck behind some tan Grand Victoria, with a driver that can barely see over the steering wheel. It is my opinion that these people should really be in nursing homes on oxygen tanks rather than out on the road because they always have their mouths hanging open so wide you could fit a fist through them. I fear that if I had the opportunity, I might just take it.

Construction is not my friend either. Everywhere I go, those orange triangular cones seem to laugh in my face, saying "Sorry sucker! Better luck next time!" The construction workers do not really like me either. Sometimes, if I'm in a big enough hurry, even their road closed signs go unnoticed. I cannot count on my fingers and toes the number of times I've been yelled at by them. Of course, I'm in too much of a hurry to really notice, so I just go on my merry way.

Stoplights are even worse. I purposely avoid any and all roads that have more than two stoplights on them. Any more than two, and I will hit every single one of them. My father's curse seems to have been passed down to me. Stop signs are much easier to deal with. I can pull the famous semi-stop, where I look around to see if anyone else is also approaching. If not, I'm home free as I press the pedal to the floor. But, if another car happens to ruin my momentum, I believe that it is quite appropriate to give them a big thumbs up as I pass by.

But, I've always wondered if I should call and alert whomever I'm meeting that I will be less than five minutes late? Will they notice? If they wouldn't normally have noticed, will my phone call bring attention to the fact that I'm late, making whomever forever hold it against me? I absolutely fear rejection, and guilt trips. So, what should I do? I must say, most of the time, I prefer not calling, and hoping and praying the entire time that I do not see a cop, and that the person that I am meeting does not notice. But, in the end, I still know that I'm late, and my OCD doesn't like that.