The plans of mice and men
5th July, 2007
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Organisational skills occur naturally in some people. In my case, any exercise that involves even a modicum of complexity must be approached slowly and carefully. Possessed of a natural tendency to charge headlong at any problem in the tragic belief that enthusiasm and energy are a substitute for intelligence and planning, disaster often befalls me. Thus I buy things and break them within minutes of removing them from their packaging.
I bought a liquid soap dispenser for the kitchen a few weeks ago. Soap dispensers are not technologically complex pieces of equipment, yet I managed to break it. How? The top resisted my attempts to screw it on. Rather than step back and note that it was cross-threaded, I applied ever greater force and snapped it off. It was consigned to the bin without ever having been used. Planning and patience, then, are everything and since birth I have lacked the last-mentioned quality, but I try. A visit to the gym, for example, may seem to be a simple enough assignment, though not necessarily for me. On this occasion, I had decided to go before work. This required planning. I would have to get up and shave but not shower. I would have to iron a shirt and hang it with my suit, shoes, socks and jocks. I'd need a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant and comb. And a belt - a man definitely needs a belt. So I hung the clothes on hangers, placed the toiletries, shoes, socks and jocks in a bag, dressed in my gym gear, kissed my wife goodbye and headed off. They have lockers at the gym, the doors secured with a self-supplied padlock, so after resisting the temptation to park in the Member of the Month car park just to see what would happen, I went to the change rooms and hung up my gear neatly, locked it in with my padlock and did my workout routine. Headphones in place, I climbed on board a stationary bike and, eyes glued to the television screen, started pedalling. The Today breakfast show was on and it occurred to me that the new co-host, Lisa Wilkinson, appeared to have had a large set of false teeth surgically implanted in her face. Her beaming, white smile never faltered. It neither grew nor diminished. It was a constant. She must sleep with that smile, teeth glowing, neon-like, in the darkness. She could probably read a book by the light of those chops. I was quietly proud that I'd managed to get to the gym, totally organised, by 6am, which meant I'd be on schedule to make it to the office by eight o'clock. Organisation, I told myself, is all about being organised. I finished my exercise and, gasping and sweating, headed back to the change rooms, showered and went to the locker wherein hung my crisp, ironed shirt. Towel wrapped around my waist, I reached inside my gym pants for the key to my personal padlock. My fingers probed deeply into the sweat-sodden pockets but there was no reassuring touch of metal. Nothing. I'd lost the key. I stared at the locker door. Inside was my car keys, house keys, clothes, wallet, watch and shoes. Outside was me in a wet towel. Apart from that, I was in pretty good shape. I got back into my clammy, cold, sweaty gym gear and searched near the bike and the water cooler. No key. I went back inside and searched the shower area. No key. The minutes passed and with them my finely honed, wonderfully organised schedule. I went, finally, to the front desk and asked if anyone had handed in a key. No-one had.
"You wouldn't have a pair of bolt-cutters handy, would you?" I asked the guy at the desk.
He gave me the "idiot" look and produced a large pair of bolt-cutters. I was late for work and all plans for future morning gym sessions have been abandoned for I have realised there are people in this life who are not meant to be organised. |
