Late

Sunday mass in the summer usually started a little late so he didn’t make a spectacle of himself when he walked into St. John’s Church five minutes late. He hated to have to open those inside back doors once mass had started. Every head in the congregation would twist to see who the late jackass was. Father Mike’s stare from the alter was enough to make a Kardashian blush. Unfortunately for Barry he was usually the individual who was the recipient of that stare.
Barry couldn’t help himself, he was always late. His mother told him he was even a week late for his own birth. He tried, he really did, but something always got in the way. This Sunday morning, he was ready to leave his apartment in plenty of time when that damn cup of coffee jumped out of his hand and landed on his best dress pants. It took him a while to find a replacement pair of pants good enough and clean enough for church.
He’d had other misadventures in church. Almost twenty years ago he was about to marry the woman of his dreams. It wasn’t Barry’s fault that the thruway authority changed the toll amount on I95 from 25 cents to 30 cents without warning the public. All those drivers who had for years thrown a quarter in the basket now needed five more cents. The confusion backed up traffic almost to New Jersey, so Barry was two hours late for his wedding. The love of his life waited long enough and eloped with Barry’s best man. She explained to him years later, after she’d divorced the best man, that it wasn’t just that he was late for the wedding but it dawned on her that he would be late for the rest of their married life.
Keeping a job was impossible. Barry was a very gifted electrician, but his bosses couldn’t depend on him to show up at the job site when he was needed. His last employer, who like Barry, told him he should see a shrink right before he fired him. He had no job or insurance so he shopped around for a shrink who had a budget plan, none existed. He had plenty of time to be late now. Unemployment would pay for his apartment and a few extras. Sunday Mass was the only thing left that required his on-time participation. Father Mike pulled Barry over to the side after mass. Barry had known the old priest for many years and had made many an apology to him for interrupting the mass by his tardiness.
Instead of scolding Barry the good father told him about a job he might be interested in. A parishioner needed someone to do piece electrical work. He would be paid by the number of panels he wired, not by the hour. He could show up anytime he wanted and as long as he completed three panels in a twenty-four-hour period, five days a week he would be paid at union scale.
Barry loved the job. The boss was terrific, and the other electricians welcomed him. Barry had no trouble fulfilling his obligations. Three panels a day were easy for him. The job came with a good health plan so he could go and see a shrink about his perpetual lateness. The headshrinker actually helped him. He went months without being late for mass. He had met a wonderful woman and they were dating. He hadn’t been late for a single date. Life was good for Barry. He was crossing the street, on-time, to meet the woman for dinner when the Number 8 bus ran over and killed him. Of course, the bus had been running five minutes late.