I have a friend who is always at least 45 minutes late. If she says she will be at your house at 1, it is going to be 1:45 at the earliest. None of us, including her daughter, remark on this to her. We just mentally adjust.
Likewise, I have some people in my life who are always 10 to 15 minutes early. If they say they are going to arrive at my house at 1, I need to be ready by 12:45 at the latest or they will catch me in the shower.
I tend to run on the late side myself.
It’s not for lack of trying, but it always seems like I am either 3 minutes late or 20 minutes early.
Part of my problem is Houston traffic, which varies wildly and unpredictably. A route that takes 20 minutes one time can take an hour or even more next time. Trying to calculate the variable of Houston traffic seems to require some form of algebra I never got in school.
Airports are hard to figure too, perhaps because my husband’s goal is “a photo finish.” He says perfect timing would be if we strolled from security to the gate and right onto the plane as they were shutting the cabin doors. This has never happened. We have, however, sprinted through the terminal, hoping the plane would still be there. Not fun. I prefer to arrive early and sit like a sack of potatoes at the gate.
But I understand. I too resent having to build in those extra pockets of dead time just to ensure I am on time. I could do something useful with that 20 minutes, even if it’s just sleep a bit more.
But then, of course, I end up being late.