How To Put More Time In Your Day

So Lainie has a move in the works, and while she hopes to possibly stay in the same general area, it won’t be the same without her. I think the world of her landlords, but it’s going to be a real push to think for one minute I’d be so lucky they’d find me someone else who finishes my sentences. Luke and Beth’s place is on the market, which was inevitable after the birth of their daughter last year. Two bedrooms, a young son and new baby daughter and you’ve run out of room pretty quickly. Chad informed me on Sunday that he’s leaving at the end of this month, and consequently so will the other three sharing the condo above me. He’s been told the owner would rather have a single person as opposed to an entire group in the future. Not that they were a problem. Basically, you have a houseful of LDS returned missionaries and you’re not looking at many wild parties. Wild anything tends to get shut down pretty quickly in the Old Dutch Village.

So basically that leaves Virginia, whose been on the third floor since she bought her place twenty years ago, and the Strange New Girl Who Lives Below Me. She’s nice enough when I pass her on the stairs, but she’s not exactly someone you exchange more than a “Hello” with, basically because she’s got her hands full with her one year old son and it can’t be easy trying to handle that on your own. In effect, in about thirty days or less, there goes the neighborhood as I know it.

Having new neighbors may have its pluses. If you think about it, it gives me a wonderful opportunity to choose not to meet any of them, to be as oblivious as The Strange New Girl Who Lives Below Me if we happen to meet on the stairs. This would enable me to more freely move about the courtyard with Basil, not being stopped by every neighbor I know to chat or comment on the dog. I could actually be, for the first time in my life, one of those ‘mystery people’ who speaks to no one, knows no one, and doesn’t even know who their neighbors are, at least not in their own building. I can’t do anything about the dozen or so in other buildings I’ve pretty much gotten to know even without trying very hard.
If I make a concerted effort not to meet these new neighbors, I could go entire weeks without anyone asking me how my day was when I came home. Months, probably, of sorting my junk mail into the foyer wastebasket without chatting with anybody. Possibly even years not having to worry that someone might retrieve a package from my doorstep and hold it for me if I happen to be away, and probably the rest of my life without being a Secret Santa to cute neighbor kids who basically had me at hello.

I’d probably get more done if that were the case, judging by a quick run through of the math as far as time I spend chitchatting. On any given day, there’s at least ten minutes in the courtyard with someone and another ten at the Designated Dog Area. So that’s twenty minutes a day, or two hours and twenty minutes a week, and that doesn’t even take into consideration the 7 – 10 minutes I’m yukking it up with Bill every morning because he’s always walking back from the exercise room as I’m going out to my car. We have the same conversation every day of the work week. He says good morning and calls me young lady, which I guess you’d have to be his age to do, and tells me, “If you need me, I’ll be…” and I finish for him, “On the golf course”, which leads to a discussion of which golf course he’s off to next and how his game is going, unless it’s winter and in that case he’s off to ‘the raquet club’. Even without factoring in the Bill time, I’m looking at about nine hours and twenty minutes every month.

I could do a lot with an extra nine hours. I could break that down throughout the week and use it to get some more sleep. I could watch nearly five movies on HBO, or an entire mini-series on Lifetime. I could get through all the errands I never seem to have time for during the week, and the laundry that stacks up every weekend. Basil could get some extra walks in, with an additional nine hours. She might even get a more regular shampoo, condition, and blowdry. I manage to get through about two books a month now but with an extra nine hours, I could probably manage three.

If I start to work immediately on honing my anti-social skills, I should be all set to be completely disinterested by the time everyone’s moved and the new people arrive. It can’t be that difficult. I’ll just need to reverse some basic tendencies, but it will be worth it to gain that extra nine hours. I will simply have to utilize:

My Ten Step Plan For Better Time Management Through Blatantly Rude Behavior

1. The next time someone stops me in the foyer or on the stairs and says anything even remotely resembling, “Good Morning,” “Good Evening,” or “Hey, how ya doing?”, pretend not to hear them.
2. Never make eye contact with anyone. Especially when shaking their hand.
3. If someone compliments Basil, passionately blurt out, “I don’t like dogs!” so they don’t mistake you for an animal lover (it’s best to have no affection for any animal, in case they ask. And to be on the safe side, you’re not a fan of house plants, either, just in case they inquire).
4. When someone smiles at you in the parking lot, from sheer relief that you didn’t clip their car pulling into your carport, return the smile with a scowl, and make it a good one (see old Clint Eastwood movies or TMZ footage of any Ryan O’Neal arrest for pointers on perfecting this)
5. If someone knocks on the door and wants to borrow a cup of flour, let them know you’re happy to help at $27.50 per cup and a $30 deposit (non-refundable) on the cup you’re loaning it to them in.
6. Deflect casual conversational openers such as, “Well, where did you grow up?” by shrugging, then pointing vaguely to the big boulder in the Designated Dog Area.
7. Answer a new owner’s inquiry, “So, how long have you lived here?” with, “I don’t know. What time is it now?”
8. Don’t be helpful when people ask basic questions such as, “Where’s the best place to shop around here?” Put the kybash on that kind of conversation starter by replying, “I don’t know. I steal all my stuff.”
9. Under no circumstances should you be home the day they move in, lest you are tempted to offer help carrying boxes, or holding the foyer doors open. If you’re asked, immediately scowl (see #4, above) and inquire if they’ll be paying for your services with cash because you don’t take checks.
10. Deflect ‘neighbor gifts’ at Christmas by becoming Jewish. You’ve got four months to get it done.

Once I’ve perfected the above, I’ll be well on my way to knowing less people, and enjoying those additional nine hours in my life. I can then move on to alienating every clerk at Rite Aid, in which case my trips there which should only take five minutes will no longer take a half hour plus.

I’m going to have so much time on my hands, who knows what I might accomplish.