“Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is” was a No. 7 song for Chicago in 1970, and it is still played quite a bit on the radio today. As a matter of fact, I heard it on Sept. 16, the same day the morning DJ said it was the 259th day of the year, so that means we have 113 days left in 2022.

The next line in the chorus of that song is “does anybody really care?” How appropriate is that for a Nawor County radio show?

Here’s a line from a Salisbury Post story (Sept. 6) … a motorcycle accident in the 900 block of North Salisbury Avenue just after 6 p.m. Sunday night, say Spencer Police.

Here’s what Gus told Bol, the cook, in Lonesome Dove, “Here’s another thing Bol, I want you to quit whacking that dinner bell for supper. You can whack it at noon if you want to, but let off in the evening. A man with any sense at all can tell when it’s sundown without you whacking that bell.”

Here’s one from George Carlin — tonight’s forecast: dark; continued dark tonight, turning partly light in the morning.

Now, according to Gus and George, and between the fence post and the Salisbury Post and the Spencer Police, don’t it seem like someone should have figured out that just after 6 p.m. on Sept. 6, it ain’t night in OcOr?

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is, or Does Anybody Really Care?

Way back in the 1990s, I had a doctor’s appointment in Concord. There wasn’t nearly as much traffic or traffic lights back then as there is now. So living in China Grove it was a straight shot right down the four lane to Concord. I left home in plenty of time for my appointment. After checking in the lady ask me what was my excuse for being late. I told her I didn’t have one. She said, “I’ll have to put something down for the people in the back.”

“Did you get lost?” No.

“Did you have a flat tire?” No.

“Did you get in a traffic jam?” No.

“Did you have a wreck?” No.

“Well, I’ve got to put some reason down for you being late. Can you think of anything?”

I didn’t have a watch and I didn’t see a clock. So I said, “Yeah, I thought of something. I think I need to ask you a question.”

She said, “OK.”

I ask her, “What time is it?”

She said, “It’s ten minutes till one.”

I said, “What time was my appointment.”

She said, “It was at 1:10.”

“So how in the H E double L could I be late,” I ask her.

She said, “I’m sorry. I just got back from lunch.”

I told her, “Well, I eat lunch every day, but I can still tell time.”

Did you hear about the feller that went to see his social worker and she said, “My computer is down and I can see you’re wearing a watch. Can you tell me what time it is?”

He looked at this watch and said, “I can’t tell you.”

She said, “Oh, is your watch broke?”

“No,” he said, “Time’s got so hard down there in Landis, I had to lay one of the hands off.”

The social worker said, “Oh, I’m really sorry to hear about that, but at least we got to talk about it. How are you feeling right now about having to lay one off?”

He said, “I’m feeling like it’s time for me to get from here and find me another social worker.”

So, does anybody really know what time it is or really care?

I think Michael Stringer and Annick Nurisso do. So I want to thank both of them for knowing and caring.

If you don’t know or don’t care, try these two. It’s stop and start time in OcOr. It’s time to Stop releasing balloons and time to start releasing R-rated movies in the OcOr Public Library.

Keep on smilin’.

Whitey Harwood is a resident of Rowan County.