Insert your own title- I'm late!

Recently, a good (not to mention hot and sexy) friend and I were discussing a great movie from years ago called "Time After Time." It starred Malcolm McDowell (of "A Clockwork Orange" fame) as HG Wells, the well known Sci-Fi writer of classics such as "War of the Worlds" and "The Invisible Man." In the movie, Wells invents a time machine (a la one of his other classics "The Time Machine"), which is promptly stolen by his good friend John Leslie Stevenson (played by David Warner), who also happens to be the notorious Jack The Ripper! The Ripper escapes into modern-day San Francisco and takes up his old habits, while Wells is forced into pursuit of his old friend. A great thriller, with just the right amount of tension, suspense, and cheese (not to mention Warner's spot-on-creepy Ripper portrayal!). It's also the reason for my third straight re-write of the opening of this blog (I blame it on the aforementioned friend for reminding me of the movie... feel free to blame her yourselves...). But I'd be lying if I said I didn't also owe her for giving me the best of the three openings to a blog about time, and why my time is more important than anyone else's...

That's right, I said it. I'm not as young as I used to be and my knees don't work right, so it takes me longer to get where I'm going than, say, someone mumblemumble years younger than myself. I have errands that take up a lot of my time, and they must be done in a timely manner. Trips to the post office, the gas station, the grocers, the porn shop (though that particular trip has died down; I find a lot of the good stuff for free on the internet). The thing is, I have places to see, people to do, so yes, my time is more valuable than yours! Just as I'm sure your time is more valuable to you than mine. Maybe you have a sick relative you're looking to visit. Or a grandchild on the way. Or there's a sale on condoms and you want to stock up, you fucking whore. It doesn't matter, your time is valuable to you, for whatever reason. But, alas, no one's time is more valuable to them than those fucking cultural illiterates...

I was third in line at the gas station, buying beer and smokes, when I spotted him. He stopped at the pump, got out the car, already digging for his wallet. I admit I had hope it wouldn't happen; I mean the guy was an older fellow, maybe late-fifties, and dressed business casual. He just didn't have the look, per se, of an illiterate (Does that sound like I'm saying an illiterate indeed has a particular look? Why, that'd be prejudiced of me, wouldn't it? Who gives a fuck, they're the CIs!). But my hopes were once again dashed as this prick comes striding in the door, squeezes himself to the side of the register and says "Twenty on five."

Here's the thing, people: your time may be more important to you, but I don't give a fuck about you or the reasons why you're in such a hurry. I've got my own shit going on, and don't have the inclination to give a fuck about why you're in a rush. All I know is that I apparently got up a little earlier than you did, and therefore am not as pressed for time. You're not going to visit your problems on me because of your poor time management. When I'm in line ahead of you, you'll wait your fucking turn. If that means I start calling out "The line's back there, asslick" or "We were here first, you fucking cunt," then that's what I'll do. Maybe you don't embarrass easily and won't give a shit what I say... but it'll make me feel better. And it may just give everyone around me the courage to speak up as well.

Back to the line-cutting prick... The cashier ignored him; she was ringing up the guy who waited patiently to get to the front of the line. But, as illiterates are wont to do, he kept insisting himself upon her by waving the twenty in her face. I opened my mouth to say something, but the guy in front of me spoke first: "The line's back there." That's it, that's all he said. He was ignored. The illiterate actually tossed the twenty over the register at the woman tending it and walked out the door. "You're welcome!" I shouted. I got one or two more readers that day when I casually mentioned I write about those people all the time, and told the others where to find the Sanitorium (okay, I hear you... but it's not really prostitution if money isn't exchanged...). I wanted badly to give the address to the line-cutting prick, but he was gone before I got out the door.

Worse examples exist: people running red lights and speeding put others in danger. Shoving past people or barrelling out of aisles with shopping carts can injure someone. If we all keep in mind that everyone's time is valuable to them, and we don't try to impose on one another, we can all remain healthy and happy. And I'll continue wearing my size eleven shoes when I venture out.

They're great for tripping line-cutters.