I’m a late person.

I don’t think of myself as late. Every time that it happens — and it invariably happens — I think of being late as a fluke that will not occur again. Unforeseen things just happen on my way to getting places. Never mind that miscalculations never result in my being early.

Here is a translation guide if you know someone like me:

“I am coming downstairs”: I will respond to an email, eight minutes will pass, then I will come downstairs.

“I am a block away”: I am two blocks away.

“I am five minutes away”: I am 10 minutes away.

“I am 17 minutes away”: I am citing an oddly specific number to disguise the fact that I am about half an hour away.

“Twenty minutes away!”: I am lost somewhere miles away, but optimistic.

“I’m en route!”: I am still in my apartment.

“See you at [time we agreed upon]”: I’m about to shower, get dressed and then leave at the time we agreed to meet.

And if you say, “I’m running five minutes late,” this, to me, means: “Hey, you now have time to watch a 90-minute film before you get dressed!”

I didn’t think of myself as a late person until last week. “Dinner is at 7,” a friend told me. I showed up at 7.15, after a slight miscalculation or two while getting dressed. Then I waited for 15 minutes. Dinner was at 7.30. I had been assigned my own time zone. I was That Late Person.

The curse of the habitually late person is to be surrounded by early people. Early people do not think of themselves as Early People. They think of themselves as Right. “You have to be early in order to be on time,” they say. The 40 minutes between the time they arrive 10 minutes early to “scout the place out” and when you show up mumbling excuses is the time it takes them to perfect the reproachful but resigned expression they are wearing when you get there. It is luminous with a kind of righteous indignation, eyes lifted skyward, a small smile curving the lips to show that they forgive you because you know not what you do. It would not look out of place on a medieval saint.

“Well,” you say, “there was traffic.” This is never a lie. There is always traffic somewhere. But it is seldom why you are late. You might as well say, “There was a bear running around in Los Angeles and the police had to subdue it” for the relevance this story has to your arrival time.

Still, it is best to say something. “I am sorry I’m late,” you say. “I ran into Constance Moondragon, that crazy lady from the bus!” This is, technically, true - you saw her but did not actually speak to her — and it buys you time.

Sometimes when you realise you are late, it occurs to you to bring a gift to atone. Because all the stores were closed, you end up being two hours late instead of 45 minutes.

I think there is a kind of graciousness to being late. If you show up on time, you run the risk of catching your hosts in their last-minute scramble. To arrive 15 minutes after the scheduled time shows not disrespect for your hosts’ time but a respect for their effort to make hosting seem effortless.

Hosts never quite see things that way, of course.

By this point, you have probably lost all sympathy for me and are thinking something like: “You are deeply self-centred and don’t care at all about the feelings of others.” All the evidence points to that, but in my heart of hearts, I really do value others’ time, I never consciously intend to be late, and I am not the terrible person I appear to be.

That, unfortunately, doesn’t go very far.

And while I don’t do it on purpose, I must say that the life of a late person is great. “People who show up late for things are always so much more cheerful than the people who have to wait for them,” E.V. Lucas said. One time I showed up early for something by mistake, and it was awful! I had to wait around for half an hour! Being late, you get to do That Fun Thing That You Were Doing Right Before You Left and then join in That Fun Thing Everyone Is Doing When You Arrive. You never have to stand alone in the rain waiting for anyone to assemble. You never have to be the first one at a party, making awkward small talk with the host and volunteering to help saute the onions.

Give me the option of being late or being early, and I will be late every time.

Which, apparently, I am.

Sorry.

— Washington Post