Late to Work

Tom has a job that has the same days off as mine and the same hours. So, he's been dropping me off at work and then heading off to his. And I'm sorry to say, but he is not very good at rushing out the door. I hate, as much as the next person, being late to work, but even more than that, I greatly dislike the rushing around before you get to the car. I mean, once you're in the car, there's not much you can do except speed a little and hope you hit the lights right. But while you're in the house - gathering all the shit you need to last for 8 hours of boredom - it's all your own fault if you're late.

And now the craziness is doubled. Not only am I running around, but Tom is also. Yelling out to each other "where is this?" and "where is that?" and "what do you want for lunch?" Then comes the inevitable shutting of the door, only to realize that one of you has forgotten something, and then the inevitable searching for keys to re-open the door, followed by frantic galloping about the house. Grrr.