Afterward

Morning people run the world but only because night people can’t be bothered.

Morning people consist of an annoying amount of self-righteousness with a caffeine addiction. Something in excess of 100% of type A personalities and folks who do speed dating are morning people. They are just so-pleased with themselves being at work before everyone else. If supervisors, they know the moral basis of their superiority is being a golden child of the holiest of circadian rhythms.

You’ve guessed. I’m a night person. I have been oppressed by morning people all my life. Capitalist custom does not permit me to confront someone on cross examination and ask: ‘why can’t you just simply learn to sleep til noon, dilly dally until about four, enjoy dinner and take comfort in that second wind energy that arrives at eight or so. Self-actualize for 6 to 8 hours and be asleep when the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is on the 4?’

No, I am not an anti-social anarchist bomb thrower because I cannot conform to departures at 6, meetings at 7 or seminars at 8. By the way, the only 8 o’clock classes are in too advanced calculus or any other subject that is dependent upon incomprehensible squiggles on a white board. You will not find humanities folks discussing whether Schopenhauer or Nietzsche had the more satisfying sex life until 4:30 PM at the earliest.

I’m going to single out an example. I have selected her solely on the basis of pedagogical aptness and her permanent facial expression, known in the orient as the Botox of cheerfulness.

We know she sleeps because she has to brush her teeth for twelve minutes, floss for six and then gargle before bed. Between the time she awakens and her arrival at the office she will have (not necessarily in this order):

Arriving at the office she becomes a white glove looking for dust. We keep our distance. At one time we tried an aerosol sedative from a pharmacy in Alberta. One does not send a single shovel to cope with an avalanche. We keep more distance, careful not to bunch up or block passageways to the outside.

We wait. The hours pass in furious flurries. Then comes noon. Our only hope is lunch. A large offering of something from Carb-O-Rama is preferred. Indeed, she eats. Soon thereafter her head starts to bob, her shoulders slump and there is the devoutly wished for thump of her face falling onto the table, where she sleeps perchance to dream but only if lucidly.

Morning people are just that. Morning’s done and so are they. We night people emerge, up to no good but too lazy to pull it off.

Oh, and by the way, it was undoubtedly Schopenhauer.

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