Trying to be late for work...

I tried to be late for work this morning. Why? For the sake of doing something different. See, I'm always on time. Every day, I make sure I'm always at work on time. So every day in order to arrive at work at eight, I leave the house at five minutes past seven. I walk you see. It takes forty five minutes. Going over the bridge. Crossing through the park. Cutting through the backstreets. Through the tunnel. And finally along the riverbank. I arrive at 7:50, do the obligatory coffee and chit-chat routine with my ever present colleagues, all ready to start another day's slog at eight.
Not today though. I tried to be late. Just for the sake of doing something different you understand. Instead of leaving the house at 7:05, I took the wild decision to leave the house at 7:15. You probably noticed I said I tried to be late, because inexplicably I still arrived at 7:50. So it seems I can't be late for work even when I try.
So what happened? Well, I dunno really, see every day I take the same route to work, though in other little ways , I try to vary my day. I cross the road a little further down than usual, for example. Or I go to a different newsagents to buy a different paper. If it's raining, I take an umbrella. Other days I don't. I prefer to get wet. Just for a change you see. Because my life it seems has become so...predictable. So routine. Every day is exactly the same as before. Every day is Groundhog Day. And it seems no matter how much I try to vary my routine, my routine always stays the same.
Indeed, each day, on my way to work I pass particular people doing exactly what they were doing the day before, and the day before that...In Kelvin park, for instance, I always pass the woman who is trying in vain to train her dog. She tries in vain to teach her dog to do something ,anything which isn't the opposite to what she wants it to do. Her high-pitched, exasperated voice, disturbing the calm early morning air, as she throws sticks, points, fetches the stick herself etc...I can't help admiring the dog. As it's owner heads for a nervous breakdown, I'm sure I seen the dog give me a little smile the other day as I passed. I gave it a wink back.
Then just before I reach the fountain at the park exit, I pass the two workers from Eastern Europe. Somewhere in Russia , I would guess, going by the language they excitedly chatter to each other. They stride through the park, with straight backs, in perfect step with one another. They appear to march to work with such evident pride, as if they were marching before the President in Red Square. In fact, sometimes, I half expect to receive a salute as they pass. Every morning I'm slightly disappointed when it doesn't happen.
Once out the park, cutting through the back streets, I pass the impeccably turned out man walking his poodle. I can't help thinking he must be gay. Not that there's anything wrong in that of course. But he does have a poodle. And he wears a cravat. Am I so wrong in assuming he's gay? Once or twice in passing I've been unable to control an involuntarily sneeze as I inhaled his overpowering eau de cologne. I'm in no doubt the poodle wears just as much eau de cologne as his owner does. At Beaumont Street I pass the different workmen sitting in their scattered cars waiting for the foreman to arrive at the worksite. As I pass, I hear their muted car radios playing through their slightly steamed up windows, playing music or the news, as each little workman sits inside, reading the paper, eating a sandwich or both. I do wonder why though? Instead of just sitting in their cars, why don't they leave their houses a little later than usual. Yet, every morning, each man sits in his own little car, waiting for the foreman to arrive at the site. Could they not arrive later? Could the foreman not arrive sooner? So it seems, it's not just me who has their routine.
So there must be a dozen, two dozen other similar people I see every day on my way to work. And I've no doubt that they now see me as much a part of their daily routine as I see them as part of mine. I guess everyone of us is just a little cog in the clockwork of society. So every day is the same. Hence my desire to add a little variety to my life. Hence my attempt to be late for work today. So why wasn't I late? I guess I couldn't help walking just a little faster to make up for lost time. Old habits die hard. Yet, although I may have failed to be late for work today, I think I'm going to try again next Wednesday. In fact I'm definitely going to try again next Wednesday. I'll leave the house even later. Walk slower. If I succeed it will probably be the highlight of my week. I suppose my situation lies in the question Bill Murray asks in the film Groundhog Day "What would you do, If you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered? As is answered in the film, I would answer too "That pretty much sums it up for me.