Every day I turn into Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.

“Uh, oh. Fifteen minutes to Wapner.”

My People’s Court is lunch. And in my world, lunch starts at 11:30.

Not 11:35. Not 11:32.


Such a hard line runs counter to my personality. I revel in diversity and embrace pretty much every segment of society: beet eaters, Bluetooth wearers, even people who listen to Justin Bieber.

But if you ask me to grab a bite at noon, you’ve wasted your time. I finished 10 minutes ago.

Co-workers humor me during the week, offering to break bread on my schedule. And they don’t complain about it — to my face.

But it gets trickier on weekends.

My milk and Oreos have burned off by the time the wife and daughter roll out of bed. They want breakfast when I need dinner.

Getting in sync.

I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.


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