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Peninsula Daily News Port Angeles, Washington Copyright 2000 Eric Rush www.ericrush.com |
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Lack of someone else’s accuracy cost me time and trouble not long ago. I'd sent a camera to Seattle for repair just before going on vacation. I asked if it would be ready by the Friday before I was to leave. They’d try. I called that morning and it was ready. I confirmed the store was open until 5:30 and made plans to drive to Seattle in the afternoon. The ferry was going to be late, so I called the store to say that I’d be there right at closing. The clerk said she couldn’t stay open late as she had an appointment. I said, “Please just don’t close early.” She assured me she wouldn’t. I called again at precisely 5:28 to say I was rolling down the street and would be right there. No answer. Sure enough, moments later when I pulled to the curb, the place was closed and dark. Half a day, 150 miles, two ferry tolls, and no camera. In the days of the Port Angeles Salmon Derby, the closing gun was sometimes fired half a minute early or late. I sometimes wondered what would have happened had a contestant landed a winning fish after the signal but before true closing time had arrived. Or if someone had landed the winning fish after time had expired but before a late signal had sounded. I envisioned fistfights and lawsuits. In high school, I used accurate time to my advantage. My early morning class was too early for my lazy bones, and I was often late. Tardiness demerits affected my grade, but it didn’t matter whether I was five seconds late or 54 minutes late. If I saw that I wouldn’t get there on time, I’d skip the class and drink coffee at a nearby restaurant until just before end of class. Then I’d stick my head in the classroom door and apologize for being late just as the bell rang. I knew the rate of time loss on my inexpensive windup watch precisely. In other classes, I’d begin closing books and putting papers away a minute or so before the bell so I could get out of my seat and head for the door the instant it rang. Other students saw what I was doing and followed suit. Once I closed my English book a minute earlier than usual and got ready to go. So did others. I stared at my watch, edged toward the side of my chair, and feinted a move toward the door. Half a dozen others were halfway down the aisles before the teacher looked up from her desk. I was sitting innocently with book open while the angry teacher asked the others what the heck was going on. The bell rang as they were sitting back down, and of course I was instantly out the door. The airline I fly for is concerned with times. Schedule integrity is important, and a lot of people sit around a table each day to sort out blame for late departures. Pushing back a minute late requires an explanation. Was it the crew’s fault? Maintenance? Air traffic control? But no one ensures the clocks in the airplanes are precisely correct, and my watch is usually different from the dispatchers’ wall clock. Mine is right and theirs is wrong, of course. When I was a new flight engineer, I often flew with a captain who set his watch by the government time signal every day and checked the airplane clocks to see that they were accurate to the second. Part of my job of inspecting the airplane included setting the clocks. They were always correct to the second because my watch was accurate to the second. When the captain realized my old Accutron was as accurate as his own watch, he began referring to my watch as Rush Atomic Time. Many have asked me over the years why I’m so concerned with accuracy when I’m always running late anyway. I may be late, but I always know precisely how late. |