Dick Wolfsie
I was playing around with the computer the other day and discovered if I call up columns that I’ve written for this newspaper and then press the required keys, the computer will tell me how long it took me to write the column. It adds together all the time I took to write the first draft, revise it, and then revise again… and again. Who knew? According to my computer program, I averaged about three hours of work on each column. If I divide that by my compensation, I’m making a fair wage for this little piece of prose. But…
…the computer did not count the time I rolled around in bed banging my cranium against the headboard trying to think of an idea for the week. It did not count the three hours I spent last week riding on my stationary bicycle just trying to think of a clever ending. The computer did not consider the two hours I spent lost in Franklin, Indiana when I missed my exit because I was trying to think of a cute title.
When I counted all this time up and divided it by my compensation, I was better off working at a fast-food joint, especially when they raise employee pay to 20 bucks an hour.
My wife asked me to clean up the garage the other day. When I was through, she said: “You’re done? In only an hour? You couldn’t have done a very thorough job.”
How insulting. And shortsighted. I’d been thinking about cleaning that garage for over a year. I hardly got credit for that. I also spent a fair amount of time one afternoon planning how I would attack the mess. Should I move everything out of the garage, or just pile things up in the corner and then move stuff around? All that time should be counted.
In preparation for cleaning the garage, I went to three stores to find my favorite beer. Then an endless wait while the cans and the glass got frosty in the fridge. Did I get credit for all that time? I did not.
I explained this all to my family and it backfired. The other night my son, Brett, came over for dinner. I asked him to read a short story I was working on. He does a little writing himself and I wanted his opinion.
“Hey, Dad. I’m done. Let’s have dinner.”
“Done already? I worked so hard on that. You took only five minutes to read it.”
“Dad, it may seem like 5 minutes, but did you consider my grade school years when I spent hours and hours learning the alphabet? You may recall the summer of ‘95 when we drove around Indianapolis and you made me look for misspelled words on store signs. Or our trip to Hawaii when I was 11 and I wasn’t allowed to have dessert until I found the misplaced apostrophe on the menu. Or the time you’ve spent drumming into my head that even when we have a conversation, I need a topic sentence. Dad, not counting all that time is not fair to me and the work I did to read that story.”
“Brett!”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Let’s have dinner.”
Television personality Dick Wolfsie writes columns for The Daily Reporter. Send comments to [email protected].
