I promise, I’ll get to it — later
BURTON W. COLE, Editor
By Burton W. Cole
When my friend Laura sent a message the other day, I was unable to offer an immediate response. I zapped her a quick message: “I’ll get back to you later.”
By “later,” I meant later that afternoon. But Laura, being an intelligent woman who appreciates precision, shot back, “That’s a nebulous term. Later can mean today, tomorrow, next week or 15 years from now.”
I’m a guy. I don’t like to be pinned down. Trust me, if I say I’m going to do something, like fix the squeaky hinge on the cabinet door or pick my socks up off the living room floor, I’m going to do it. It is totally unnecessary to keep reminding me every few days for months on end.
“I don’t care about your socks. We don’t even live in the same state. I just want to know when you’re going to answer my question,” Laura messaged “Wait, you leave your socks on the living room floor for months?”
“I’m getting to it.”
“You know, you could have answered me by now. It is later than when I asked you five minutes ago.”
“And in 60 seconds, it will be one minute from now,” I typed back. “And in five more minutes, it will be even more later. Isn’t more of something better?”
“I want to know when you’ll answer my question.”
“How about exactly at noonish, give or take? Or better yet, the second Tuesday of next week? Or I could just answer you later.”
“Fine,” she typed. “You’ll hear from me — later.”
I’d never heard a typed message sigh before. Or roll its eyes.
What is it with detail people? Why do they need to know things like 12:06 p.m. or turn left exactly 1.34 miles from the intersection of Elm Road and Maple Avenue? Where’s the adventure in that? It saps all the excitement out of life.
The last time someone asked me for directions, I quoted one of my favorite books and said, “Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”
When they told me to grow up and give real directions, I did: “Well, let’s see, you shoot down this road a piece until you reach where the Johnsons’ barn used to be, take the next paved road — the dirt road will drop you over by Cliffords’ pasture, and you don’t want to disturb that Jersey bull; he may not look like much, but when he gets a head of steam going — huh? Oh, yeah, so the first paved road, head on down there until an Irish setter and a hound dog come running out to give chase, and what you’re looking for will be the next driveway on the left. Wait, left? Or was it right? No, it’s left. I’m almost sure of that.”
I don’t get asked for directions often.
Maybe it’s an age thing. When people my age refer to something that happened “just the other day,” we might mean two days ago or 15 years and a week ago. It’s all pretty much the same to us.
However, if you ask me what I’m doing today, and I say, “Nothing,” that is not an invitation for you to fill my day with unwanted plans. “Nothing” IS an extremely precise answer to what I am doing. I wasn’t asking for suggestions.
My dishes need washed, there’s a report that needs finished and I seem to recall something about socks on the living room floor, but I am doing NOTHING.
But if you ask what I did over the weekend, it’s more likely I’ll answer, “Why? What did you hear?” zzyou don’t need a precise answer for everything.
But if you insist and keep pestering me for an answer, I will respond with all the sincerity and gravity I can muster: “Later.”
Because I will get to it. Right after I pick up my socks.
Talk to Burt now or later at news@falmouthoutlook.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.