I got off work today at 4:00
. At least, I thought it was 4:00. I had an unanticipated bount of of temporal disillusionment
. I had been watching my watch all day, having little to do and being anxious to get out and do stuff. I looked at my watch, and it said 3:52. I noticed, however, that the date on the watch was January 2, 1995
. I figured my watch's battery must be low or something, and it had reset. My computer's clock said 4:05 AM
. This would lead me to believe that perhaps the computer's clock had never been set properly either. And I can't very well trust Windows 2000
to do much of anything, let alone keep time.
Not really trusting either my sources, I got up and walked out. Now, I work at an accounting firm, being the person-who-educates-them-about-web-development-and-PHP-and-the-like, and everyone is too busy being busy to worry about what some teenager punk intern is doing. Outside, there was no sign of my mom's car. She was supposed to be there at four, lest I have to walk home. (Yeah, not having my own car sucks). I proceed to walk over to Exchange St. and look for some sort of clock. Now fnding a clock in downtown Portland would seem like a deceptively easy task, but it actually is not. I thought there were would be an old analog on city hall, since bells sound out the hours and all. It occured that I should listen for the bells, but I had been in the office and I could easily have missed the four o'clock bell, so I scrapped that idea. I recalled what I could of Portland's geography to figure out where I could stand to see the Franklin Tower, which displays the time and temperature prominently on top of its roof. No luck.
I consider going to my dad's office, a few blocks away, but decide against risking it assuming it's actually 3:30 or something, as he would be understandably miffed. I couldn't very well walk into a store and be like "duh, what time is it?" They'd be like "Dude, are you stoned?" Stoned teenagers are not very uncommon wandering around the Old Port. I started walking back towards the complex where I work, and noticed the familiar outline of my mom's car. And the license plate etching. Strangely enough, my internal sense of time seems to have served me well in this situation.
My last thought as I got into the car was - "Hey, I should node this."