I Sync My Life with the Garbage Man

Elaine: What time you got?
Kramer: Oh, no. I don't wear a watch.
Elaine: What do you do?
Kramer: Well, I tell time by the sun.
Elaine: How close do you get?
Kramer: Well, I can guess within an hour.
Elaine: Well, I can guess within the hour, and I don't even have to look at the sun. Well, what about at night? What do you do then?
Kramer: Well, night's tougher, but it's only a couple of hours.

Seinfeld, "The Engagement"

I used to wear watches all the time. But working at a youth camp in the summer of 2003 forced me to abandon my watch-wearing ways. The 100-degree sunshine for five hours a day gave me a wicked watch tan. To stave off this melanin tattoo, I looped my watch through my backpack strap. After that summer, I could never reclaim my desensitization to the constant rubbing and the thin film of sweat captured underneath the watch face.

Since then I've used my cell phone as my time keeper. Most people think I'm flipping open my phone to check my messages and texts, but I'm really just seeing how long it is till work is over. This isn't a bad thing though; my co-workers think I'm more popular than I actually am.

But beyond the cell phones chronologically coordinated by satellites and the Swiss watches that wind themselves with my body's own momentum, there are smaller things that keep time in my life.

This morning, walking down the street to the light rail, I noticed the Monday garbage truck was still half-a-block early. It's strange, but my Monday walk to the light rail is always set to the time keeping of the garbage man. I can tell if I'm going to miss my usual train based solely on where the garbage man is. If he's past the red house, I need to quicken my gait if I want to make my train.

There is an older gentleman who always jogs around my building between 5:30 and 6:00 pm. He always wears the same gray running shorts and green tank top—in summer or in winter. If I hear his shuffled stride outside my living-room window, I know I should start thinking about dinner.

Beyond the cell phone clocks and fancy wrist watches, there are many tiny things in my life that chronologically pinpoint my existence. Even if I smashed all the physical timekeepers in my life, these garbage men and joggers and countless other subtleties would keep me somewhat on time.

It's strange. I wouldn't say I rely on them, but they certainly supplement my routine and consistency. And they don't even know it. They simply keep time, like always, punctually unaware they they are part of my life clock. I feel connected to these people, even if I don't actually know them.