In the early 1980s, I was perpetually late on almost every occasion where I was depended upon to be on time. At the time, being on time was not a priority for me.
Now, as has been suggested by psychologists, lateness may be interpreted as a sign of passive-aggressive behaviour, a faithless statement to those who are waiting for you to arrive, that your time is more valuable than theirs.
Most people won’t bear a grudge if you’re five minutes late — but to be more than five minutes late, when people might start getting annoyed with you is a whole different kettle of fish. Let’s face it, to mature adults lateness betrays a lack of respect and consideration for those who you are inconveniencing with your lateness.
In the inverse, although being late may well be considered as an insult to others, it also serves to undermine the person who is late.
Psychologists suggest that lateness betrays a lack of emotional intelligence on the part of the person who is consciously or unconsciously “choosing” to be late, as an indication of a distinct lack of self-knowledge, will power, or empathy.
Or, it may be that the person who is late has set unrealistic goals, or underestimated the time that it takes to travel from one place to another.
There may even be a more perfidious reason for being late, than mere mediocrity. Sometimes it involve anger and aggression, and at other times self-deception. Lateness may be interpreted as treacherous anger expressed as passive-aggressive behaviour, a vigorous means of expressing aggression covertly, and doing so without incurring the full emotional and social costs of a more overt aggression.
It may be, too, that the person who is late feels inferior or unimportant, being late a way to impose themselves on a situation by attracting attention, if even it is negative attention, even going so far as to “overtake” an event, situation or proceeding.
Sometimes, being late is your unconscious (intuition) telling you that you don’t actually want to be there, or that it would be better for you not to be there — for instance, it could be that a meeting (or even a job) is not the best use of your time, or that arriving at your destination on time will work against your best interests.
Still, there are few habits as infuriating as someone making us wait.
Despite what may be running through your mind as you’re kept waiting again, it’s unlikely your friends or colleagues who are persistently late are just being selfish.
“Lateness is really a commonly misunderstood problem,” says Diana DeLonzor, author of Never Be Late Again, who has conducted research on the perpetually tardy. “Yes, it’s a rude act, but I’ve interviewed hundreds of people and the vast majority of late people really dislike being late, they try to be on time, but this is something that has plagued them throughout their lives.”
In 1982, an event occurred in my life that ended my lateness forever.
Now, in my contemporary life and with rare exception, I always arrive on time — or, more often than not, early. When I arrive early, I tend to hold back on knocking on the door or depressing the buzzer, until the exact minute of my proposed arrival time occurs — and over the course of the past 42 years, I’ve felt all the better for it.
In the autumn of 1982, having finished work on my Masters, I found myself employed in a suburban Metro Vancouver school district as a secondary school English and Drama teacher.
When I’d visited my mother one mid-autumn weekend, she invited me for dinner in her North Vancouver condominium apartment, in the coming week. “Arrive at 5pm, Raymond,” she said to me. “You know I like to eat dinner early.”
On the mid-week day of the appointed dinner date, I skeddaddled out of the school at 3:45pm, a little later than I’d planned, but I figured that seventy-five minutes to travel from the Tri-Cities to North Vancouver should get me to my mother’s house in good time. Such, however, proved not to be the case. Traffic was particularly bad on Highway One that day — there was an accident on the Ironworkers Memorial Bridge that slowed my travels, as traffic moved along at a crawl.
Note should be made, the event being related occurred in pre-cell phone days.
So, there I was stuck in traffic with no way to contact my mother to let her know I’d likely be a few minutes late.
Long story short, I arrived at my mother’s door at 5:20pm — late for sure, but I had a good reason, or so I thought. I knocked on the door.
My mother’s newest boyfriend, a tall, clearly fit, imposing man used to getting his own way — a retired commander in the Canadian Armed Forces Navy, as it happens — glowered at me standing in the hallway as I made my way into my mother’s home, whereupon he grabbed me, shoved me up against a wall and lifted me off the ground, my feet dangling below me, and set about to lecture me on how rude I’d been in arriving late, that on behalf of my mother, he wasn’t having any of it.
“This is the last time you’ll be late for any event, ever, for any reason,” he roared at me, my feet still dangling below me. “From here on in, not only will you arrive on time, you will arrive early — but wait until the appointed time to make contact with those with whom you are to meet. You will plan all of your excursions and travels, and in so doing will always leave more than enough time in order that you might arrive at your destination not just on time, but early. Do I make myself clear to you?”
I nodded my head meekly, and said quietly, “Yes sir, I do.”
And, you know what?
Visiting the Grandview-Woodland neighbourhood of my youth, where I have many friends
From that day to this, I have always made a point of leaving early, allowing myself at least an extra half hour of traveling time, often more — as when I’m traveling to Vancouver’s east side from my Kitsilano home to visit a friend for lunch or dinner, or a couple of beers, or a saunter through the Grandview Woodland neighbourhood, or for any other reason when I’m meeting with a valued acquaintance.
