Single-tasking

Single-tasking

Not to brag but I’m a single-tasker. I can do many things one at a time.

Take this morning for example. I woke up and then drank some coffee. Without caffeine I’m a non-tasker.

After my shower I regularly practice single-tasking by going through the following motions in this order:

Wipe down the shower stall to keep mildew at bay;

Wad a little toilet paper to clean (my) hair from the shower drain;

Comb my hair;

Put on deodorant;

Turn off the power to the shower.

I’ll spare the mundane details of getting dressed other than to report that I’ve yet to perfect the time-saving move of putting on my pants both legs at once.

When I’m ready to go into work I collect my coffee mug, any books I need, and this notebook for recording important matters, put on my house slippers, and go downstairs.

The commute to my office takes anywhere from 0 to 60 minutes depending on if I plan to jog sometime during the day because that determines whether I eat breakfast or not. I can’t exercise on even a partially-full stomach.

Today isn’t a jogging day but I do have somewhere to be after first mailing some things so I put on my waist pack and jacket and pick up my packages and shout “I’m off—I love you!” and head to the post office.

It is here at the P.O. I discover I don’t have my debit card. Oh no! Did I lose it? Or leave it somewhere? I substitute my credit card while I mentally retrace my steps. Yesterday I had taken out my debit card to withdraw some cash and then to purchase some soap refills at the fair-trade store. After that I had stopped by the computer-repair shop to be shown step-by-step how to operate my new cell phone but—in spite of my offer to pay for their time and expertise setting up my first-ever mobile form of communication apart from singing and hollering which come to think of it I do simultaneously on a frequent basis—they wouldn’t accept any compensation.

This leaves the fair-trade store as the last place to see my debit card in action unless I dropped it and someone right now is emptying our checking account. Thankfully it’s the end of the month and there’s not much money left.

“I’m back—I’ve lost my debit card,” I yell upon entering the house. I go directly to the paper-recycling container where I had filed the fair-trade receipt and I call the phone number of the store only to get an answering machine so I leave my name and number and ask them to call me whether or not I have left my card there.

By now it’s a few minutes before ten o’clock when I’m due to catch the next train into town so I dash out of the house again, “Love you—Bye!” and hurry to the train platform where a half dozen workers in flash-orange suits are taking this day of all days to install electric lines overhead whereas the train up until now ran partly on diesel. Sorry, no rail service today, I am told.

So I rush back to the house. “Me again—the train’s not running!” Bummer but on the flip side it allows me to call the fair-trade store when they open at ten and ask if they have my card.

Yes! It’s there and they were going to call me and even offer to bring it to my house but I tell them I will come and get it as I am going out anyway. Grabbing two pound coins and a fifty-pence piece I put extra energy into stating my intention, “I’m outta here—Love you!” and walk quickly to catch the bus.

This heated bus with comfortable padded seats is my first opportunity to pause for a few minutes before arriving at the fair-trade store where they give me my card and I exonerate their guilt for not handing it to me yesterday—apparently the manager has forgotten on more than one occasion—and for not contacting me.

With our worldly accounts intact I use my cheap all-day ticket to ride into town to catch another bus to get to where I'm going. The second bus doesn’t come so I end up taking the train and arriving at my destination in time for a cup of coffee followed by lunch.

Not bad for a linear-operator who trips if more than one foot is placed in front of the other.