COLUMN: Taking the phrase ‘not a morning person’ to another level
It’s 5:20 a.m. on a Thursday, and I’m awake 10 minutes before the old “NBA on NBC” theme song alarm chimes on my phone. I was thoroughly enjoying the thought of Bob Costas and Marv Albert waking me up for such an early start, in an effort to catch a plane to Wyoming for a student conference.
For some maniacal reason, however, my circadian rhythm decided I was better off with a few extra minutes to do something productive — by which, I mean restlessly groaning and feeling my way through the dark so I could go pee and put myself in what one with my vast level of punnyness would claim is a better “stream of consciousness.”
The last time I had to get up this early it was for a high school track meet. All I can remember about that morning is slumping on a school bus bench and my best friend Justin — I swear on Walt Whitman’s grave that this is true — turning to me and asking, “Does this Gatorade taste like Pop Tarts to you?”
Who knew that energy-drink-turned-breakfast-pastry-scandal moment stood as proof that I serve little to no purpose before sunrise.
People may judge me, but I’m no early riser. The only things I really know about 5:30 a.m. is that it is six hours before I’m normally awake and, according to my research, two hours before Rebecca Black rises and — quoting her own personal rhythmic dissertation — has her “cereal.”
I have learned a few things in my brief experience, however, and none of them include breakfast being the “most important meal of the day,” unless you are specifically referring to chicken and waffles, that’s just a match made in deep-fried-syrupy Heaven.
I’ve learned that no truth-seeking human being should expect me to speak for any reason early in the morning, because what you’ll be getting will be a very confusing surprise. On this particular morning last week, for instance, my initial communication with a co-worker, who was traveling with me, went like this:
Him: “You up already?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Him: “What time are we supposed to meet at the van?”
Me: “Saltines.”
Other than the fact I came to the realization, should time ever be measured in snack foods, 10 a.m. would be Wheat Thins, noon would be Bugles and 6 p.m. would be Chicken in a Biscuit (it makes sense, think about it), there is no merit to my speaking during nocturnal interactions.
Aside from my morning speaking woes, I’ve also come to realize something more for other’s safety than my convenience. When it comes to early mornings, I need gum. Lots of it.
Now, this is an obvious observation, yes, but there is a strong disclaimer.
When I say I need “gum,” I most certainly don’t mean, “bubble gum.” Trust me on this front. If you think morning breath is bad enough, just think what chaos could ensue when teamed up with the atrocious after flavor gum taste — it’s more sadistic facing Road Warriors Hawk and Animal at Wrestlemania XIV.
Third, in the event of a future early rising, the first song I hear of the day must solely be up to me. Just as parents believe children pick up stronger habits in their early years, the brain holds tighter than white knuckles to the first song it hears each day and doesn’t leave the brain until head hits pillow.
This normally isn’t a problem, but that day I came to the sudden discovery when confronting the van radio at 6 a.m. and made a solemn goal to have an iPod or at least a Red Hot Chili Peppers picture book nearby.
If I have to endure another 24-hour period of my lobes vibrating to “Man, I Feel Like a Woman,” I am going to snap.
Last — and certainly, certainly least — have your dairy terminology in stone and down to motor memory. It may not sound like a dire situation, but somewhere down the line of preparing for the day, I mixed up cream cheese with sour cream, took a bite of a bagel and nearly lost all feeling in my shoulder when spitting it out.
Not all tragedies involve blood, especially when taste buds will do.
Yes early days are rough, no question. The next time I’m forced to wake up in the name of travel, I’ll see to it I’m prepared. You know what I mean. I’ll stay home, sleep in and fire up my Skype account. Every hero has his special weapon.
– Steve Schwartzman is a junior majoring in marketing and minoring in speech communication. His column runs every Wednesday. He loves sports, comedy and creative writing. He encourages any comments at his email steve.schwartzman@aggiemail.usu.edu, or find him on Facebook.