Monday Night Football and Other Time Zone Stuff

My cell phone with its Rhode Island area code accompanied me to the Pacific Northwest. Of course, why wouldn't it? In our modern era of nationwide calling plans there is no need to switch. This is fortunate because it would annoy me to have to create a whole new contact list just because I went to a new location. A task like that would probably take me a long time to complete, doing it the only way I would, in fits and starts. And besides, my peeps in RI don't want to have to edit their contacts either, or worse still, scratch out and rewrite my number in their phone directory booklets or Rolodex card files. That is if anyone besides me even uses those things anymore. I just can't let go of hard copy back-up even as I avail myself of modern technology.

The real advantage of keeping my 401 area code is that those RI peeps, my family and friends, can easily call me without incurring a toll, and I can do the same. Really, why would I need to change to a local phone number when I only know one person here? Susan and I have managed for several years with our different area codes programmed into our phones so we'll likely continue without even a hiccup. In fact, the real hiccup would erupt if I changed my number and caused Susan to have to edit her contact list and cross out . . . blah, blah, blah . . . see above.

My biggest pet peeve, which would be present regardless of area code, is that pesky three-hour time zone differential, the time diff as I've come to think of it. Upon arrival here, the clock in my cell phone corrected itself to the new time zone, apparently making me think all electronic devices could handle that task without my involvement.

Within a few days of my arrival and after learning the local "lay of the land" I drove my laptop to a nearby Starbucks in order to enjoy a cup of tea while using their WiFi to search local job postings. The parking spaces posted a two hour limit so, making note of the time on the dashboard clock, I removed the key, shouldered my computer bag, and exited the car. Later in Starbucks, completely immersed in scrolling, reading, writing, and e-mailing, I finally broke the spell and stopped to sip my still warm tea. In mid sip I thought to compute the time remaining at my parking space and glanced to the clock in lower right corner of my computer screen. Fortunately, I managed not to spit tea all over my keyboard when I realized that almost four hours had passed. My panic at the possibility of the car having been towed blocked any common sense questions from rising to the surface, like why was my tea cup still warm, and nearly full, and why had my butt not gone numb from sitting so long. I pretty much ran from Starbucks trailing power cords and splashing tea through the drink hole in the lid, only slowing when the car came into view with no tow truck or ticket in sight. As I drove away I again noticed the dashboard clock and felt confused and disillusioned. How could it be that not quite an hour had passed since my previous time check on that digital readout? Well, I think you get the picture.

Even though I can call RI and vice versa without a toll there is still that time difference to be dealt with. Questions like What time is it in RI? Is so and so still at work, eating dinner, sleeping? have to be answered before one number can be dialed, or rather, key can be depressed. The time diff still exists in the summer but the process seems to have a bit more leeway with later sunsets (on both coasts) and later kids' bedtimes. Nevertheless, gone are the days when I can think of someone and decide to call and say hi. Actually, I'm a shy caller anyway, with rules like not calling people before 9:00am or after 9:00pm, except in special circumstances, so this time difference thing is a big, fat horsefly in my already obsessive-compulsive ointment.

One recent special circumstance was the first day of school when it was OK to call at 7:45am because everyone was not only awake but in the car headed for school. Teddy was starting 5th grade so no big deal for him, but it was Austin's first day of kindergarten, his first day of school ever. I had to set an alarm for 4:45 in order to talk to them until they arrived at school, somewhat early because Teddy is now a member of the safety patrol. Even if he had not been selected for that and could go to school at the regular time, it would have only given me another twenty minutes of sleep. Being somewhat aware of the existence of time zones, Teddy asked me what time I had to wake up to call them. He seemed impressed. Austin, on the other hand, has no knowledge of that concept and only described his new school clothes so I could hold the proper mental image. After that call I considered getting up, but the darkness beyond my window seemed more middle-of-the-night-ish. So I didn't.

The time diff can also make returning calls a bit tricky. In an odd chain of events, one night I left my phone on the bed and didn't know I had a message until about 10:15 when I went to settle there and read until lights out. The message must have been almost exactly three hours old because my friend Chris said her time was 10:15. I had been brushing and flossing at around 7:15 which accounts for why I never heard the T-Mobile theme song and missed the call. Already beyond my 9:00pm cut-off time, I still might have returned a call at 10:15 if I knew the caller wanted to hear back from me. But, my friend's time was 1:15 and even people awake at that time don't want to hear their phones ring, no matter how many messages they left earlier. I vowed to call her the next day but didn't want to place her in a bind while at work so waited until late afternoon when it might be possible that she had left the office. Normally I would not drive and call someone just to chat but was on the road in between appointments when I called my friend at about 4:15, reaching her around 7:15 which was my time the day before when she called me at 10:15 during my oral hygiene ritual. Still with me? See what I mean? This stuff can make you crazy.

Returning to my earlier discussion of reasons why I should not change my phone number, I must admit to one disadvantage of my 401 area code. When someone else within that area code mis-dials another RI number similar to mine, I get a call. Generally speaking, wrong numbers don't bother me, but in a three month period someone several times, or several someones one time each have made such a mis-dial in the RI morning, perhaps trying to reach someone before work, reaching me instead, when I still have miles to go before I wake, miles to go before I wake.

In developments unrelated to the time zone turmoil, I have lost track of my New England sports teams. I saw three Red Sox games this summer when the Seattle Mariners played a 3-game series at Fenway over July 4th weekend. Those games were televised here as Mariners games but I watched them as a Boston fan. More recently, I rooted for the Mariners in a game against the Yankees, not because I've developed any attachment to the Mariners, but just because any team over the Yankees. By the time football season arrived, I'd resigned myself to not seeing any Patriots games (or Giants, my other favorite team) unless playing against the Seattle Seahawks. However, a few Mondays ago, having successfully navigated the time diff and talking to my daughter, she asked if I planned to watch the Patriots game. I asked if they were playing the Seahawks because I could probably get that game out here. She said, "But, Mom, it's Monday Night Football."

Of course! Monday Night Football is one game that everybody can watch no matter their map coordinates. I told my daughter that I'd get right on making dinner and then search all the unfamiliar cable channels until I found the right one and have it ready for the game. Around 6:45, with dishes stowed, I began scrolling through the guide until I saw the desired title. I tuned in and found the game already in progress. I checked the score and then the clock, expecting to learn how many minutes had already expired in the first quarter. I blinked and tried to refocus because the time remaining could not have been correct at 6:45 for Monday NIGHT Football. But, alas, that game's kickoff must have happened at 4:15 Pacific Time for there to be less than four minutes on the clock. The foundation of my world has a few cracks in it now that I must think of this decades old tradition as Monday Afternoon Football. Such words do not roll off the tongue.

Since then I've checked the TV listings every week and Monday _____ Football is listed at 5:30, a tad later than that Patriots game but still afternoon. I haven't watched since then. I tell myself I might if not for having to eat dinner. But really, it just hurts too much.