“Serving overseas as a small-town boy from America is intense, stressful and humorous! Enjoy a light-hearted story with me from our last 20 years overseas!”
– Matt
Rooster, Not a Bat
If you are up and about in the dark well before sunrise, stop by Phil’s One Stop Marathon Gas Station in Grabill, Indiana. You will see trucks, vans, and Bobcats on trailers being filled up for the day, and men filling up travel mugs with coffee and drinks for the morning. Some of those same men walk around town late into the day with headlamps still on their hats as clear indicators that they are morning people.
When we moved overseas, I was told that I would adapt to the late time schedule that people keep. The evening meal is often eaten around 9PM, and bedtime is quite some time later. I remember stopping one evening at 8 PM in a small-town diner while traveling. Clueless, I asked if I could order some food. The owner explained that because it was so hot, the cook would not arrive until 10PM to start serving food. I can’t imagine the Woodhouse Restaurant getting many customers if they kept those hours.
However, decades later of living abroad, I still start getting sleepy and groggy after 9PM, and sometime from 5AM on feels best to rise in the morning. I have sat through hundreds of night meetings over the years in a zombie like state, trying to pretend I was alert and listening.
At the end of a large work conference with many meetings, I was looking forward to driving out the next day for a long day on the road. During each day’s announcements, they had mentioned forming a musical group from the attendees who might have their instruments with them. On the last evening, I was in bed early for my long journey the next day. Not long after falling asleep, I awoke to the racket of a band. The group played loudly and not that well in a patio area under my window. In my drowsy, half coherent state, I called the reception desk of the lodging and complained that quiet hours for the area were 10PM and it was well after that. A few songs later, the band stopped. While the meetings wrapped up next morning, I half caught the announcer apologizing that someone had complained and shut down the band and closing party. It took me several moments to catch on that I was the party pooper who had shut down all their fun and that the loud, lousy band was part of my group. I never told anyone it was me.
I have long given up becoming a night bat when I am wired to be a morning rooster.
Something similar ever happen to you? Contact me and let me hear your story!
mattsmishaps@gmail.com Matt’s Mishaps, PO BOX 114, Grabill, IN 46741
