This went on for ... well, a long fucking time. Then I realized I'd been missing what his eyes were saying: "It takes as long as it takes, dickhead."
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"I usually get home sometime between dumbass-American o'clock and half after take-your-shit-elsewhere."
See, it turns out not everyone measures time in minutes and hours. Sure, the people I was working with had a basic idea that time exists: Stuff happens and then something else happens after that. But there isn't much point in keeping track of minutes and hours if you can get by just fine without it (remember, watches weren't even commonplace in the west until a few hundred years ago). When your major daily concerns are getting water and avoiding crocodiles, you care a whole lot less about how fast some arrow moves around a dial. That stuff isn't done by appointment.
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"Besides, they keep eating our damn clocks."
And the culture shock hits you twice -- when you spend a few years in that environment and then come back to "normal" life, it really is jarring to realize how time-oriented our society is. People are absolutely insulted if you show up late and twitchy about things running too long. You have to wrench your head back into that mindset after you've become used to waiting an hour for anyone to show up -- because that's how it is in a situation where everyone has just a vague idea of what time of day they should be somewhere.
So then you start to resent how rigid life is in a developed country: You think, "Geez, does everything have to be so exacting?" You go to Starbucks and find yourself with an overwhelming variety of options. Do I really need six different types of latte? Would it be worth making do with lukewarm instant coffee to never see one of those brightly lit menus again?
Only if it still costs $4.75.