The Lost Fifteen Minutes.

I remembered this when I was pondering the items for the Creepy Story series. It isn’t exactly creepy, but it is a bit odd.

I was twenty, and working in the warehouse I referred to in the post about fighting the fire. My cousin lived in a village five miles away, so we arranged that I would go over and have lunch with her one day.

The place I worked in was strict on timekeeping. We had a clock card system so that times of arrival and departure were known to the minute, and being more than two minutes late was punished by the docking of half a day’s pay. I couldn’t afford that. I had a young daughter at the time and my partner didn’t work. I was already doing overtime whenever it was offered, as well as a second, part time job on Friday evenings. That was why I made such diligent efforts not to be late back from my lunch.

I clocked out at 12.30 and checked my watch to be sure it agreed. I drove to my cousin’s house along the winding country road and checked my watch again when I arrived - 12.40, which was about right for the time taken to get to and from the car and drive the five miles. I didn’t want to be constantly looking at my watch, and so I made sure it agreed with her electric clock in the kitchen. I used that to monitor the time.

At around 1.15 I said I would have to leave to be sure of not being late back. I double checked the time with my watch. It must have been shortly before 1.20 when I drove away from the house. The journey back was made on the same road and I met no obstructions of any kind. I arrived back expecting to see the men making their way from the canteen to the warehouse, but the outside of the place was deserted. Nevertheless, I still expected the card clock to give a time of a few minutes before 1.30 when I clocked back on. It said 1.45.

I didn’t believe it. I assumed someone had got into the clock somehow and wound it on fifteen minutes or more as a joke. I looked at my watch and had to believe it, because my watch gave 1.45 as well.

So how had it taken me around twenty seven minutes to drive five miles along an unimpeded country road on which speeds would have varied between about 30 and 45 mph? The journey had taken less than ten minutes going in the opposite direction, and there was nothing about the road to explain the difference. Where had I been for those fifteen minutes, and what had I done? Or is this one of those curious incidents that demonstrate the illusion of time? Maybe it isn’t quite as straightforward as we think it is.