Time Slips Away

Instead of setting my clock forward for Daylight Saving, I set it backward on accident. You want to know what that feels like? Try this: imagine the universe has been overtaken by alien possums who are all running for president.

The two scenarios feel quite similar.

Only two mornings ago, at this time of day, it was EIGHT o’clock. The sun shined, birds made music in the trees. Then (snap), Daylight Saving — an American law forcing citizens to tamper with bedside clocks. Which is often accompanied by the adage: “Spring forward, righty tighty, beer before orange juice, never sicker.”

Anyway, if you’ve done your citizen-duty, your clock now reads, NINE. However, my watch reads, SEVEN.

Now you see what I mean about the possums?

Thus, when I’m sitting in the doctor’s office for my appointment, I sense something’s wrong. Because here comes the night-shift janitor with a commercial floor buffer.

This time change business has to stop. It is un-Constitutional. Since when did the government have any right to tell me what I do with my microwave clock?

“But sir,” the National Time Bureau agents argue. “It’s Daylight Saving.”

“Hey,” I say. “Just what is the National Time Bureau anyway?”

“We’re looking into that, sir.”

“Wait a minute, you look an awful lot like a possum.”

In the first place, I cannot understand why anyone passed a law on daylight. I wish someone would’ve prevented this monumental decision.

According to history, Daylight Saving was first presented to U.S. Congress in 1492, by Benjamin Franklin’s uncle, Jo Jo Franklin. Jo Jo purposed that since mankind was a Godless mess, a time change be enacted on random Sundays, thereby making mankind late for church. It was a success.

And during this same year, Jo Jo made other groundbreaking achievements. Namely: parking meters, braille on ATM machines, and drive-thru liquor stores.

Well, I’m not happy. Hear me loud and clear, Jo Jo. Next year, I’m boycotting Daylight Saving altogether. Instead of setting my clock backward or forward, I’m going to vote for alien possums to run our country. At least they don’t wear wristwatches.

Now if you’ll excuse me.

It’s about nine hours past my bedtime.