Up A Lazy River? Yeah, Me, Too…

The other day, I committed the biggest sin a modern American can commit.

Do you know what that is? Well, first, let me tell you how it happened, and see if you can figure it out for yourself.

I was sitting on my couch, wondering, “What time is it?”

I remember trying to calculate it from the last time I saw a clock.

“It was 10:22 when I went in the kitchen, and it has been about 30 minutes since then, which would make it about 10:52,” I thought. “Or maybe I went into the kitchen more like 35 minutes ago, which would make it (attempts to do addition in head)…somewhat later.”

I gave up on that strategy, and then I remember vaguely trying to work out a cost-benefit analysis of the situation: How badly did I really need to know the time? I was curious about the time, but I didn’t really need to know the time.

So I sat on my couch for another half-hour or so (or maybe 45 minutes or maybe 17 — how should I know?) and I finally decided to rouse myself and get a drink of water.

As I walked toward the kitchen, I checked the time on my watch…

“D’oh!” as Homer Simpson would so eloquently put it.

Of course, I had been wearing my watch the entire time, just like I have been wearing my watch every day, all day, for the last 24 years, including in the shower (it’s waterproof).

So what was my sin? Forgetfulness? No, that wasn’t it, and besides forgetfulness isn’t even a sin, unless God is more strict than I think.

I committed the horrifying sin of laziness.

You know, sloth. Indolence. Idleness. Slacker’s disease.

Because, the truth is, I knew I had a watch on all the time. As I look back, I realize that I was simply too lazy to turn my wrist and look at it. Forget about getting up and going into the kitchen. I couldn’t even be bothered to shift my glance.

I realized at that moment that I was no better than the old dog in one of my all-time favorite “Hee Haw” jokes, which goes something like this:

Hayseed No. 1: (rocking on a front porch) That’s a mighty fine hound dog you got yerself there.

Hayseed No. 2: I don’t know. He’s the laziest, most flea-ridden hound dog in the world. (Cut to shot of bloodhound, sprawled in dirt, looking forlorn).

Hayseed No. 1: Flea-ridden? I’ve never seen him scratch, not even once.

Hayseed No. 2: I told you he was lazy.

I feel like that dog, because ever since then, I have realized that I usually can’t be bothered to actually perform a pronating movement of my wrist. Now, that’s lazy.

This is tough to face, because Americans despise a lazy person. If a teacher says your child is lazy, that’s more damning than calling him stupid. Stupid isn’t his fault. Laziness is.

At work, productivity is often valued more highly than quality. Employers will not tolerate a lazy worker, and neither will fellow workers, who believe that someone else’s laziness equals their extra work.

And when this country went through a debate about welfare reform, most hard-working Americans didn’t accuse welfare recipients of being evil. They accused them of being slackers. The overwhelming national opinion seemed to be: Get off yer duff.

So I imagine that most Americans share my secret fear of being revealed as lazy. When we work a 60-hour week, we feel virtuous and manage to sneak it into our conversations (“I came in on Sunday and cleaned up a few projects.”)

But if we want to leave an hour early, we try to creep out unseen, hoping that no one will be watching with narrow eyes and pursed lips.

So I suppose that is one good thing about my newly discovered watch-laziness. Nobody can really tell I’m too lazy to look at my watch.

Yet I still can’t help but worry about it.

“Am I really lazy?” I thought to myself in the shower this morning. “Do people think I’m a slug? A slacker? Oh, probably not. (Pause while applying shampoo) Hmm. I wonder what time it is.”