Another Example of Why The Word “Adult” Should Not Be Applied to Me

I love my job. I really do. But if there’s one thing that I hate about it– and I’m terrible at– is scheduling meetings. And because a big part of my job involves hosting web-meetings with clients scattered all around the globe, this poses a problem.

A while ago I had a web-conference scheduled for a client of ours in London at 8AM EST– 9AM Argentina time.

There are a few things that are important to understand. In order for me to be lucid and prepared enough to give a presentation at any time earlier than 10am, I need to wake up at around 6:30. This is because I’m an incredibly slow person in the mornings (some would say I’m a slow person in general, derr)– even the simplest tasks take forever. It’s strange because I remember being such a morning person when I was a little kid. No longer the case.

Look at this.
Would you feel comfortable calling this overgrown manchild an "adult"? The answer is no. No, you wouldn't.

So I wake up at 6:30– my Super Mario theme song alarm rings out. I grab the cell phone with the intention to wake up and start my day, but instead I cradle it in my arms like a lover and fall back to sleep. I have a bizarre dream in which I suddenly decide I want to become a firefighter, so I go to firefighting school. But before that I have a going-away party at my school where my classmates rip off their arms and give them to me as a send-off, which in the dream I find simultaneously sweet and horrifying.

I wake up and realize with horror that it’s now 7:55. I take the quickest shower I’ve ever taken, get all my stuff ready and leave my apartment building. Instead of doing what would be the sensible thing and grabbing a taxi, I jump in the 152 bus with my music on (Diana Krall‘s rendition of “Departure Bay”, not exactly the best choice for somebody who wants to get somewhere fast). In the bus, I think about how I’m going to approach this– I’m going to just set up a quick webconference meeting and wing it. I’m not going to do any preparation for this. This client is pretty tech-savvy anyway. She’s been using the system for a while. It’s just going to be her asking me some questions and that’s it. I can handle this.

I should probably clarify why there’s a little more at stake in this particular scenario than with our regular clients, and I think it really speaks to the kind of shallow idiot I have grown into: this client– this girl– this woman– this knockout bombshell of a person is absolutely gorgeous. Granted, all I have to go by is a 100pixels wide Facebook profile picture, but she’s stunning. She’s got two of my favorite things in a girl: an Australian accent and green eyes. Of course this means I’ve always been a nervous dork whenever I’ve interacted with her. And today, I want to impress her with my awesomeness.

The bus drops me off and I still have four blocks to go on foot. I look at my cell phone clock. It’s 8:55. But really that means it’s about 8:48 ’cause my cell phone’s time is a little off. That’s fine. I speed down Fitz-Roy street and take a left on Guatemala. I can see the office. There are people outside. Yes. I’m on time. I’m gonna make it. It’s onl– wait, why are there people outside? Are they waiting for me? What’s up?

My coworker Galo who looks like a hobbit and has cats who wrestle tells me that the guy who usually opens the office up in the morning hasn’t arrived. YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

I tell myself to simmer down. Sure, this sucks. I’m going to be late for our meeting. But hey, this isn’t my fault. Even if I had gotten up at 6:30 as originally planned and didn’t have to race through Buenos Aires but instead gone at my usual, lethargic pace, this would’ve happened. In fact, it makes for a great way to open the conversation. “Sorry I’m a little late but you wouldn’t believe what happened!”. And I’d tell my beautiful green-eyed Australian client the story of how we were locked outside of the office. Ha, ha, ha, she’d say. What a charming anecdote. What a hilarious turn of events! She’d laugh and say oh Jorge, you’re so charming. And hey, I’m going to Buenos Aires next week, maybe we can meet up in some restaurant in Puerto Madero and have dinner and laugh and walk together in the moonlight, arm in arm, discussing the meaning of life and then staring into each other’s eyes and saying how weird and wonderful it is that two strangers from such different places met up in this wonderful city and hey, remember that day when you were locked outside of the office and was late to our training session?– and then share a passionate kiss, caught between the moon and Buenos Aires.

Or! She could say “What? No, Jorge. This is shameful. I was here waiting all morning. This is ridiculous. You call youself a professional? You are an ugly idiot. Not only am I canceling my use of the service, I am calling the company’s CEO and telling him what a pathetic slob he has working for him. You are a disgrace, Jorge. I would never kiss you. Never!”

9:20 AM now. The guy arrives. He apologizes for being late. Opens the door for us. I rush upstairs, turn my computer on, open my lovely client’s e-mail where she asks me if I’m available at 9 AM on monday August 8th for a training session. I click “reply” and tell her I’M SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE I’VE HAD A CRAZY MORNING– CAN I CALL YOU? And then just as I’m about to hit “Send”, I see it.

Monday August 8th
Monday August 8th
Monday August 8th
Monday August 8th
Monday August 8th

I whisper to myself.

“Th…   that’s next week. ”

I speak again. Louder.

“That’s next week. The meeting is next week.”

And then a feeling of calm washes over me, quickly overtaken by paralyzing anger and frustration with myself and my total incompetence, which itself is quickly replaced by bewildered amusement expressed in a maniacal fit of giggles as I slink down in my desk and try to gather any remaining vestiges of self respect–at least enough to face the day.

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