On Italian time

Italians seem to live in a state of semi-contained chaos about most things, but especially about time. Despite most Italians’ philosophical attitude about being ten minutes late to an appointment, they always seem to be in a hurry.   They stand and gulp down an espresso instead of sitting and they drive like they’re taking a woman in labor to the emergency room.  But what’s the rush if you’re already late?

I spent the first few weeks I was here constantly on the go.  In order to get somewhere on time, you have to leave so far in advance! I hardly had time to breathe because I was so busy running to catch a bus or sprinting down a street.  After complaining about this to Aria, our program director/life in Florence guru/friend, she shared a crucial bit of wisdom with me: that semi-contained chaos of Italian life cannot be precisely enough manipulated to allow for promptness.  The only way to successfully get along is to quit fighting and simply eke out the easiest path you can through the muck.  Basically, you either spend tons of time and energy racing to get somewhere on time, or you slow down and accept lateness.

As my harried roommates can attest to, this is still an aspect of Italian life I struggle with.  None of our professors seem troubled by starting class 15 minutes late (one especially lax prof usually arrives after the whole class has assembled), but I am.  I can remain calm until we are actually late, then the panic begins.  Clearly my assimilation to the Italian style of time-management is only skin deep… On the plus side, my legs and my shoulders have gotten a lot stronger this semester, the legs for speed walking to site visits and the shoulders from muscling through hordes of fat tourists on the sidewalks.

My latest battle: my jeans.  My mom sent me some much-needed new jeans (remember my earlier complaining, Blythe?) but they were 4 inches too long, so I sought out a tailor.  After much effort, I finally dropped them off somewhere successfully last Thursday.  They said they’d be ready Friday, which is an awfully long time for one pair of pants to be hemmed, but whatever- we’re on that cute Italian time, you know??  But then I realized these infamous jeans wouldn’t be ready for my trip to Paris this Thursday, and that’s heartbreaking because I really wanted to paint a stylish and well-put together picture of myself for Parisians and Lauren.  So then I went back today to see if I could get them a day early (HA), only to learn that they will actually be ready later than expected because the tailor was “sick.” I say “sick” because Italians are weenies who deem any ailment fatal so they don’t have to work.

This small injustice aside, I love it here.  It’s beautiful and calm and delicious and perfect, but sometimes you just want your damn pants.