Time Marches (Backwards)

When I arrive at the office of the Co-op to work (all members have to work short shifts a few times a year) the clock on the wall reads nine.

But the real time is actually eight, because of the time change.  So my first job of the day is to go around to all the clocks in the building and spin the hands back an hour.

It doesn’t seem like much, but there is something very satisfying about fixing something so simple, yet so essential.

What Do I Know?

The little map on the Lyft app has the guy coming into the U-Haul parking lot via an entrance that I know has been closed for years. We keep sending in notices to Google Maps to let them know, and they keep ignoring us, so I settle back with a sigh and watch the arrival time on the screen, waiting for it to update to a later time, if the driver doesn’t just abandon the ride entirely out of irritation.

But here he comes in a lumbering minivan around the corner of the building from where I know the entrance is closed, giving me a friendly wave. 

He pulls up in front, and hops out to help me load my bags in the trunk, and I ask, “How did you get in?"