PUNCTUALITY / ENG

It's all Fabrizio Mancuso's fault.

It all started at the Gap summer camp more than 15 years ago.

I'm patiently waiting for my colleagues in Place Jean Marcelin, the nerve center of the capital of the Hautes-Alpes. It's 1:30 p.m. and I'm waiting.

I glance at the restaurant menus, knowing that I'll have, as usual, the local specialty: beer and pizza.

We were supposed to meet at 1:00 p.m.

30 minutes late.

I wait. Then my favorite Sicilian arrives, the distinguished tenor of the Habanera Quartet, and cheerfully launches into a gentlemanly conversation:

"Fuck!, Michat, get yourself a cell phone, we can't warn you!" To which I elegantly reply:

"Fuck!, Mancuso, buy yourself a watch and be on time."

Since then, Fabrizio is no longer allowed to taste my pizzas (even if with scopette/private joke).

I'm not uptight.

I'm full of flaws, BUT I'm punctual.

This isn't about optimization, it's not about contemporary frenzy and racing against the clock. It's almost the opposite.

Punctuality is a contract between several people, a slice of life shared by mutual agreement. Nothing more, nothing less.

Whether your life is sweet and peaceful, wild and tumultuous, idle and empty, or frenetic and overflowing around these appointments, that's none of my business.

Everyone savors their life at their own pace. Simply put, it seems wrong to me that a personal attitude should influence the choices of others.

Because that's precisely what it's about: Being on time means respecting the lives of others.

Students can rest assured, if I'm indulging in this little moralizing rant today, worthy of the old fogey I am, it's because I haven't always been punctual, far from it!

I had to learn that the hard way. But this lesson has served me well, and I feel obligated to pass it on.

I remember a phone call at home when I was 15 and playing in the Lyon saxophone ensemble.

My father answered.

"Serge Bichon here" (who wasn't exactly the most gentle of men when it came to "the job"...).

"Is Jean-Denis there?"

My father, all smiles:

- Yes, he's watching France-Germany...

- ...That's a shame, our concert starts in 15 minutes! (Oops).

...My father has never driven so fast in his life to take me to this little church in the heart of Lyon, and I arrived just in time for the second half of the concert.

I have no memory of what happened next... Head trauma and multiple fractures, no doubt :-D!

Time is time, before time it's not time, after time it's too late.

Punctuality is the politeness of kings.

There are countless proverbs.

Now that I have more time behind me than ahead of me, I confess I'm finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate what I perceive as a theft of my time. Yes, a theft. My time isn't more or less precious than anyone else's (and contrary to what some seem to think, I don't have a minister's schedule…), but it's MY time, and I claim the right to do what I want with it.

When a student arrives at class one minute late—and I mean one miserable, insignificant little minute—here's what goes through my mind:

1/ "I'm wasting a minute and it wasn't MY choice. This minute is the one I was dreaming of at 7:04 a.m., still snuggled under the warm duvet after hitting that damn alarm for the third time because 'I really have to get up now.' This minute is the one I could have used to watch the short video my beloved son, living in Thailand, sent me this morning, but which I didn't have time to watch even though I really wanted to." This is also the minute I would have loved to savor, breathing in the calm air of Fourvière Hill, opening the window of room B18 to find inspiration and teach at my best.

But no. At 10:00 sharp, I'm ready, and there's no one there. I can't start anything, I can't begin writing an email or practice my saxophone because the student is supposed to be there and will arrive any minute. I'm trapped, I've lost control of my time, I'm a slave to a 20-year-old kid who, at this precise moment, is stealing a little piece of my life. A little piece, sure, but damn it, my life! (Okay, I'm clearly exaggerating, but you know how it is, sometimes your head goes a little crazy...don't you? Oh, really?)

2/ Personally, I love lemon meringue pie. When someone gives me one (which is often now because my guilty pleasures are becoming well-known), I don't leave a crumb. Not a crumb. I practically lick the packaging to fully enjoy the cream stuck to the cardboard.

A minute is a mere crumb in an hour of class.

But normally, motivation should drive students to do everything they can to gain a crumb rather than waste one. Because I will never give an extra minute to a late student. First, it would encroach on the punctuality of the next student, who might actually be motivated. Second, it would be giving too much credit to a student who doesn't deserve it. In a minute, I can talk a lot of nonsense, but I can also, who knows, give THE piece of advice that will spark a major change. And this potential should be enough to ensure that nothing is wasted of the 60 minutes students are entitled to. When you love something and you have ambition, you take full advantage of the opportunities given to you, without leaving a single crumb!

3/ This year, for the entrance exam, registered candidates came from France, Australia, Russia, the Netherlands, Croatia, Belgium, Taiwan, Korea, Spain, Italy, Ukraine, Estonia, and Romania. These young people make an incredible logistical, financial, and passionate effort to try to join the class. Thank you to them. If, once admitted, they are not highly motivated and make the most of the courses, it is an insult to the commitment and the dashed hopes of those who were not accepted.

To which I would add that this French public service is a luxury of which we must be fully aware. I would regret that we would have to resort to an Anglo-Saxon-style pricing system (which offers other advantages) for our "users" to realize the value of this service and how fortunate they are to benefit from it. Its worth cannot be measured solely by its cost. A wasted minute means unused budget vanishing, money that could be used for something else, or simply given to others who dream of it. And until proven otherwise, we're not exactly rolling in money. If I were to post a "Who wants a minute of advice?" online tomorrow, I'd get plenty of takers. We need to appreciate the privilege of what we have compared to those who have less. As with everything, waste is a scourge and an incomprehensible affliction for those who have nothing.

There are always unforeseen circumstances, of course. But these should be the exception, not the rule. I'll add that chronically late people are easy to spot. And despite all their talent, a day will come when a professional, aware of the importance of their task, will legitimately tell them: "Sorry, I don't work with amateurs" (meaning "bad amateurs," those who don't actually like lemon meringue pie).

Finally, I'll add that, of course, every country has its own cultural specificities and customs that must be accepted, and whose advantages and disadvantages must be experienced. One day, when I was going to perform in southern Italy, my train had a connection in Milan. Due to reasons specific to the French railways, we left Lyon 90 minutes late. I panicked because, although I always carefully planned my journeys, I hadn't allowed that much leeway. Arriving at Milan station, sweating and with my heart pounding, I learned that the Italian train was actually 4 hours late... so I was actually early!

What can I say about my first tour in Russia, where I was told a car would pick me up "tomorrow," without any further details? So, in doubt, I was ready at 8 a.m.... my ride arrived around 2 p.m. Then, the next day, I was told the rehearsal with the orchestra would take place "in the afternoon." For them, it was 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. Okay!

Conversely, a tour in Japan with my friends from Impetus is planned down to the second; otherwise, it would apparently be considered an offense. I love Japan ;-).

Since I stopped traveling for work, I haven't been able to keep up with the global perspective on this issue. In France, I still connect it to the technological immediacy that governs our lives and gives the illusion that time is malleable and that everyone is available at any moment. Failing to notify someone that the schedule is changing is, of course, a serious breach of etiquette. But even with prior notice, changing a plan that involves other people is hardly any better. We're not supposed to be "at each other's beck and call." Involved, yes; motivated, yes; accommodating, yes; kind, yes; but not "at our beck and call." We each have OUR OWN lives.

Punctuality is about respecting and being collectively aware of this individual treasure: time.

I've, of course, skipped over the professional advice that we teachers all pass on to our students: Arrive (at least) 30 minutes early to start warmed up, settled, and in tune, whether in rehearsal or class. Because it's not enough to arrive on time; you also need to be in the physical and mental state to fully accomplish the tasks assigned to you. Time is money in the orchestra, blah blah blah, we know the drill…

Really, I'm no Ayatollah of private property; I even have a few lingering memories of a vaguely post-communist collectivist ideal, but I tell you with all the love and firmness I can muster:

- Manage your time as you please,

- Waste your time if you feel like it,

- Gain as much time as you want if you believe in it,

but please… DON't TOUCH MINE!