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Oh No, We're Running Late Again By- Melvin Durai Melvin Durai is a Pennsylvania-based writer and humorist. Born in Tamil Nadu, India, he grew up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early 1980s. In 1995, while working as a reporter for a daily newspaper in Chambersburg, Pa., he began writing a regular humor column. His weekly column now appears in several newspapers and on a number of Web sites. He also writes a twice-monthly column on Indian and Indian-American issues. He is a diehard fan of the National Football League and also likes to run, lift weights and play soccer, tennis and pool. An award-winning feature writer and aspiring novelist, he plans to publish a collection of his best columns. You can write to him at comments@melvindurai.com To read his older columns, go to http://www.humor.melvin.com

My wife, Malathi, and I were invited to Thanksgiving dinner at her boss's house. We were expected there at 4 p.m., so I was ready to leave before 3:30 p.m., hoping to get there right on time. But Malathi had only just entered the bathroom, which meant that I still had enough time to write a 400-page novel.

"What time do we need to be there?" I asked, a delicate way of asking the real question: "How late are you going to make us this time?"

She said it would be OK to get there at 4:45 p.m., since dinner wouldn't be served until at least 5 p.m. That would give us a full 15 minutes for chitchat, before getting down to the important business of eating everything in sight. As luck would have it, we arrived at the dinner at 4:35 p.m., which meant that, to Malathi's way of thinking, we were 10 minutes early. We didn't need to apologize, even though the other guests had already introduced themselves to everyone there, including the dog. (A cute Labrador named Indy, who, unlike my wife, arrived at the dinner table right on time.)

Malathi, as you've gathered, isn't as particular about being on time as I usually am. In fact, the first time we met, at Indianapolis Airport, she was two hours late. Imagine how late she would have been if she wasn't trying hard to make a good impression. She claimed she had been stuck in some kind of torrential downpour. But I saw no sign of rain when we left the airport, leading me to believe that the only "downpour" that had delayed her was the one in her shower.

Malathi, in her defense, is much better at keeping time than many people. And I say that not just because I hate sleeping on the couch. I've met dozens of people who are always running late. Many of them have apparently never heard of that great invention: the watch.

Among those who've received news about the technological breakthrough, some consider a watch nothing more than a piece of jewelry. If it didn't display the time, they wouldn't care, as long as it displayed important information such as "Rolex" and "Gucci."

Others look at their watches only to figure out what month it is. "December already? I could have sworn it was June. How come Al Gore is still making speeches?"

A few have never owned a watch. They think they can do without one, even though they don't work for the government. If they have an important appointment, they try to keep track of time by looking at the sun. If not, they rely on people around them:

"Excuse me, what does your watch say?"

"Rolex."

"I mean, what time is it?"

"December."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Before Christmas."

People from certain countries seem more inclined to be late. For example, if an American invites a Zambian and an Indian to lunch at 1 p.m., the Zambian will arrive at 3 p.m., unless he gets a ride from his Indian friend, in which case they will both arrive just in time for supper. And neither of them will act as if anything went wrong. "Apologize? For what? We got here on the same day."

My friends and I have tried to adjust to this chronic tardiness. For example, if we want to play soccer at 4 p.m. with a group of international players, we tell them to arrive at 3 p.m., ensuring that the game will start promptly at 6 p.m.

It's better than buying them Rolexes.

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