Father Time prolongs boredom, kidnaps fun
February 26, 2009
So I recently had the opportunity to meet someone very important, controversial and effective. I say he’s important, because without him we wouldn’t exist. I say controversial because he’s never in enough abundance for or all of us to appreciate. And I say he’s effective because he’s extremely gifted in the art of pissing me off.
My watch has a watch, and that watch has a mediating, judgmental and very stiff upper lipped team manager standing over its shoulder with a stop-watch. I grew up in a family of four, including myself, and my parents are my original parents, still married and raising my younger brother. I’ve never dealt with stepparents, but I conclude that Father Time is the unwanted, mumbling stepfather who gets drunk every Tuesday night and never shuts up.
He’s not abusive, no; he’s just obnoxious and in a constant hover. Whenever he offers to take you out to dinner you end up going to Denny’s and the only thing he ever orders is the ultimate omelet. He asks the waitress to hold the peppers while scarfing-directly from the spout-an entire bucket of black coffee. When his entre arrives, he complains that there are no green peppers. This is Father Time-total turd. Nobody likes you. Go away.
I want Father Time to take a vacation, like a month. Imagine what you could do with yourself if time just held the hell still for 30 days. You could catch up on everything that you needed to get done within the month. You could even sit around and do NOTHING for the whole month, and when time resumed you’d be still be in the state of procrastination you were in before it stopped, but you’d have a month’s relaxation under your belt.
I (B) took the time to sit down with Father Time (T), both for my own personal benefit, and for your own clarification purposes. I feel it should also be brought to your attention that Father Time was 13 minutes late to our interview, which I held last Thursday afternoon. The conversation went something like this:
B: Thanks for taking the time to sit down with me today (mild chuckle)
T: Not a problem, Bradley. (no chuckle, he appeared lost in the humor)
B: I just have a few questions for you regarding your occupation.
T: All right.
B:Why do you make fun things go so fast, and not-fun things go slow?
T: It’s my alter-ego, really: Father Douchebag. I’m really an OK guy.
I stopped the interview because he both answered all my other questions, and I was running late for work. I was happy with my findings, though.
Time’s a thief. If time is money, then money is time, and I’m always strapped for cash, and it’s because Father Time is pick pocketing me. It’s a no wonder people drink-and I mean that ambiguously: booze and coffee. The booze internally slows things down for us at night, and the coffee speeds things up the next morning. Interesting. I will be perfectly honest and say that if I met Father Time on the street, no matter the time of day, I’d deliver a concise punch to his wrinkled chin. It’d be the kind of thud-punch that would knock the guy out before he hit the floor.
I would immediately feel bad after slugging him, so I’d get him a pack of ice, call his wife (Mother Nature), and prop his feet up on the curb so as to keep him alive in the cold-Old Man Winter’s got it out for Father Time and I’m just doing my part to keep myself as far away from a third degree murder charge as possible. That’s all for now. I will see you all in exactly 168 hours.
Brad Brookins is a graduate of UW-River Falls.