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Oversleeping

Posted on Thursday 22nd March 2007 at 00:00
I wake suddenly and, disorientated, look at my watch. 9:48am, Bugger! I leap out of bed, now wide awake and run to my phone for a second opinion. 9:49am. Double Bugger! No time for a shower it seems; no time for anything really. I should be parking my car at uni now, ready to walk into work and start my 10am shift, not standing in my bedroom in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, wondering what to do. Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!

Somehow I am dressed in less than a minute, an impressive feat for a man in a buttoned shirt. I dash into the kitchen for a drink, if only to wet my throat enough to aid the swearing, and then tear up the stairs, not even pausing to consider whether I'm disturbing anyone with my earth-shattering thuds.

Looking in the mirror I thank the gods for my short, neatly cut hair, which is not yet long enough to really need combing. Shaving too can be dispensed with, but only because I am delusional enough to belief that I actually pull off the dashingly unshaven, handsome young man look rather well. My mouth tastes like I imagine a rotting corpse in a greenhouse would taste, but you'd be surprised how quickly you can brush your teeth when you really put your mind to it.

J and her boyfriend look on in mild amusement as I rush about the place, eventually making it out of the door and into the car, just as the clock on the dashboard reads 10:00am. At this point I find myself in a battle of wits, between the part of me that, given the choice, would happily drive to work at 90MPH and to hell with the consequences, and the part that knows that dangerous driving is wrong, no matter how late you are or what that consequences may be. The latter part seems to win, helped in no small part by the hordes of Sunday drivers who have chosen this exact moment to get in their cars and drive in front of me at an infuriating 25 miles per hour. If this isn't bad enough in the 30MPH zones, they fail to show any obvious sign of speeding up when we hit the one section of national speed limit on the route from Fishponds to Frenchay Campus.

A quick bit of parking and an even quicker walk later, and I arrive at work a full 20 minutes after I was supposed to get there, my worst record for any shift I've ever worked. I'm extremely lucky to have the sort of bosses who don't fire you for such offences, though I'm not planning to push my luck like that again anytime soon.

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