Fuck the Clock

If you Google "fuck the clock" over 40 million hits come up. Everything from song lyrics to coffee mugs to posters, but the first time I saw that phrase was on a tee shirt Patti Smith wore. She was a poet way way back when I was a teen and, at the time, I didn't understand the profoundness of her messages. I thought she was just trying to shock the masses with her unconventionality, along with not shaving her armpits and not caring if her hair was combed. I grew up on her music, but only understood her lyrics later in life ... after I actually had a fully functioning frontal lobe and some life experience that let me sample the sentiments she sang about.

Patti Smith just being her cool self.

Now that I've passed middle age, I understand fuck the clock more clearly, having lived a life of watching the clock and trying to always be somewhere for someone at a certain time. Having spend hours of my life (probably years, really) sitting in traffic, setting alarm clocks, stressing over getting to work on time, getting my boy to school before the final bell, punching out on time, remembering to punch back in from lunch, not being late for a medical appointment (or else lose your spot and have to pay for wasting someone else's precious time). I've missed family vacations, birthday parties, visits with friends, tranquil time reading a book, just doing what I want to do, because I had to get up early for work or drag myself out of bed for a night shift. Waking to the blasting sound of an alarm clock is part of my daily life, because there is always something to do or somewhere to be, and being on time has become society's marker of how responsible I am.

I have forsaken happiness and time I could have spent with people who actually love me (or at least like me) to fulfill obligations and be on time for employers who would really take little notice to me suddenly disappearing forever. I once walked into a job interview that an employer scheduled for 9AM, despite it being a night shift job, only to have my potential boss smirk and tell me she only scheduled the interview for that time to see if I could manage to be punctual at rush hour. (To make it on time, I left my house extra early that morning and sat in traffic on the bridge for an hour getting into the city -- just like she knew I would). Punctuality speaks volumes to power tripping bosses. Course, some employers are more generous and give you a seven minute window before you're actually considered late -- a bone for the dogs.

I'm looking forward to fucking the clock when I retire.