A Public Service Announcement from the Pacific Time Zone.
I have a question.
Actually, I have several questions.
But let’s start with one that has been bothering me since approximately 5:03 this morning.
WHY THE FUCK DO PEOPLE ON THE EAST COAST THINK THAT WHEN YOU TRAVEL TO THE WEST COAST, YOUR BODY, BRAIN, AND ENTIRE EXISTENCE REMAIN ON EASTERN STANDARD TIME?
Seriously.
You know I’m in California.
You know there’s a three-hour time difference.
You know that when it’s 8 AM in Atlanta, it’s 5 AM in California.
Yet somehow, after processing all this incredibly complicated mathematical information, your brain arrives at the following conclusion:
“I bet Joel would love to hear from me right now!”
No.
No, I fucking wouldn’t.
In fact, there are approximately 8 billion people on this planet, and at 5 AM, I would prefer not to hear from a single one of them.
Not even the Pope.
Unless he’s calling to tell me I’ve been elected Pope.
In which case, I’m declining.
The hours are terrible.
THE CRIME SCENE
5:03 AM.
I’m sound asleep.
Possibly dreaming about world peace, beautiful women, or buying another company that will cause my wife to question whether I need psychiatric intervention.
Suddenly…
DING!
“Good morning! Quick question.”
GOOD MORNING?
GOOD FUCKING MORNING?
The sun isn’t up.
The birds aren’t up.
The homeless guy outside my hotel hasn’t even started yelling at imaginary people.
And somehow, you’re already conducting business.
5:07 AM.
“Did you see my text?”
No.
I didn’t.
Because I was doing something called SLEEPING.
It’s an extraordinary biological process that scientists believe may have originated approximately 500 million years ago.
Apparently, you’ve never heard of it.
5:11 AM.
RING! RING!
Now you’re calling.
And suddenly I’m wondering whether murder committed across state lines is a federal offense.
I’m pretty sure it is.
Which seems unfair.
Because technically, you started it.
THE INTELLECTUAL MYSTERY
Here’s what fascinates me.
These aren’t stupid people.
These are successful, highly educated, reasonably functional human beings.
They run companies.
They manage money.
They have children.
Some even know how to use their television remotes without asking their wives for help.
Yet somehow, the concept of time zones turns their brains into fucking mashed potatoes.
We have artificial intelligence.
We have quantum computing.
We have rockets that launch into space and land themselves.
We can transplant hearts.
We can map the human genome.
We have machines capable of detecting gravitational waves from colliding black holes billions of light-years away.
BUT WE APPARENTLY CANNOT TEACH AN ASSHOLE IN ATLANTA THAT CALIFORNIA IS THREE HOURS BEHIND HIM.
Maybe this should be Directive 17’s next company.
An AI-powered telecommunications platform that detects when someone is about to call another person at 5 AM and immediately delivers a powerful electric shock.
Not enough to kill them.
Just enough to make them reconsider their life choices.
We’ll call it FUCK OFF AI.
Our tagline:
“Artificial Intelligence. Natural Consequences.”
I think we could raise $100 million by lunch.
Pacific Time, of course.
THE EXCUSES
Then comes my favorite part.
“Sorry! I forgot you were on the West Coast!”
YOU FORGOT?
We discussed it yesterday!
You asked how California was.
You asked about the weather.
You asked what hotel I was staying at.
You even told me to enjoy the Pacific Ocean.
WHAT DID YOU THINK HAPPENED?
Did the Pacific Ocean move to Buckhead overnight?
Did California suddenly become a suburb of Alpharetta?
Did the entire North American continent shift three time zones while I was sleeping?
Or did you simply wake up and decide:
“Fuck geography. I have a question.”
And here’s the kicker.
It’s NEVER an emergency.
Never.
Not once.
Nobody is bleeding.
Nobody has been kidnapped.
Nobody is standing on the ledge of a building.
Nobody has discovered a nuclear missile heading toward Atlanta.
It’s always something like:
“Hey, did you get a chance to look at that email?”
No.
But now that you’ve awakened me, perhaps I’ll spend the next three hours developing a detailed plan for your disappearance.
THE SECOND OFFENSE
Now comes the part that really deserves a congressional investigation.
At 8:30 AM Pacific Time, I finally respond.
And what do I hear?
“Wow! Sleeping in today?”
SLEEPING IN?
IT’S 8:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING!
What kind of Puritan work-camp mentality have we adopted where sleeping until 8:30 AM is considered a character defect?
I’ve been awake since 5:03.
I’ve received 11 texts.
Four phone calls.
Three emails marked URGENT.
And a voicemail that begins:
“Hey, nothing important…”
NOTHING IMPORTANT?
THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CONTACTING ME BEFORE THE SUN HAS EVEN CLOCKED IN?
If it’s nothing important, send a carrier pigeon.
Send a postcard.
Write it on a fucking coconut and throw it into the Atlantic.
I’ll get to it when I get to it.
MY PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY
For those who know me, I’m generally a happy guy.
I wake up smiling.
I love life.
I love people.
I believe we should spend our lives solving problems, building wonderful things, and making other people happy.
In fact, I created an entire investment platform, Directive 17, around the philosophy that the future should make life better.
But I have discovered an important exception to my otherwise sunny disposition.
MY COMMITMENT TO HUMAN HAPPINESS DOES NOT INCLUDE YOUR HAPPINESS AT 5 FUCKING AM.
At 5 AM, I don’t want to build companies.
I don’t want to solve global problems.
I don’t want to hear about your revolutionary AI breakthrough.
I don’t want to discuss your investment opportunity.
And I most certainly don’t want to hear the words:
“Got a second?”
Actually, yes.
I have exactly one second.
And I’d like to use it to tell you to go fuck yourself.
Efficient, isn’t it?
A MOMENT OF SILENCE FOR HAWAII
And then I started thinking about Hawaii.
Those poor bastards.
When some genius in Atlanta decides to make his 8 AM business calls, it’s 2 AM in Honolulu.
TWO.
IN THE FUCKING MORNING.
At that point, you’re no longer making a business call.
You’re committing an act of psychological warfare.
If someone calls you at 2 AM to discuss a PowerPoint presentation, you should legally be permitted to have them committed.
No trial.
No jury.
Just a judge who asks one question:
“Did you know what time it was in Hawaii?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Life without parole.”
Seems reasonable.
THE SOLUTION
I’ve decided to institute a new personal policy.
Every time someone texts me before 7 AM Pacific Time, I will return the favor at an hour of my choosing.
11:43 PM Eastern:
“Hey! Quick question!”
12:17 AM:
“Did you see my text?”
12:49 AM:
“Just following up!”
1:26 AM:
“Are you awake?”
2:04 AM:
“Nothing urgent!”
And at precisely 3:11 AM:
RING! RING!
“Hey! Sorry to wake you! Just wanted to make sure you got my earlier messages!”
And when you answer, sounding like a dying walrus, I’ll say:
“Wow. Sleeping in today?”
Then I’ll hang up.
Because I have a busy day tomorrow.
Making people smile.
A FINAL THOUGHT
Here’s the beautiful irony.
The people who wake you up at 5 AM are the same people who get offended when you don’t immediately respond.
“Everything okay?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Yes.
YES, YOU DID.
You committed the unforgivable crime of confusing your convenience with my availability.
Somewhere along the way, we developed this bizarre belief that because technology allows us to contact anyone, anywhere, at any time, we are somehow entitled to an immediate response.
We’re not.
Just because my phone works 24 hours a day doesn’t mean I do.
My refrigerator works 24 hours a day.
That doesn’t mean I expect it to answer emails.
And unlike my refrigerator, I occasionally need to fucking sleep.
So to my friends, family, colleagues, business partners, and the occasional lunatic who believes I operate on a 24-hour emergency hotline:
I love you.
I really do.
But unless you’re bleeding, dying, being held hostage, or have discovered the cure for cancer, please understand one simple concept.
YOUR 8 AM IS MY 5 AM.
And if you can’t figure that out, perhaps artificial intelligence isn’t the solution.
Perhaps we should start with remedial kindergarten.
A clock.
A map.
And a teacher who explains that the Earth rotates.
Slowly.
Just like your fucking brain.
Have a wonderful day!
Make someone smile!
Change the world!
Be kind!
Be happy!
And above all…
LET ME SLEEP, YOU INCONSIDERATE FUCKS!
With love, naturally. ❤️
P.S. If you’re offended by this blog, please feel free to call me to discuss your feelings.
My office hours are 2:30–4:00 AM Eastern.
P.P.S. To the person who texted me while I was writing this to ask whether I had time for a “quick call”…
I hope you step barefoot on a Lego.
P.P.P.S. I just received another text.
“Are you still in California?”
No.
I’m in fucking Narnia.
And even the talking lion knows what time it is.
Directive 17