Daylight Saving Time Can Kiss My Whole Ass

Happy “fall back” day, gentlemen. Today is the day the government gives us one extra hour, and then spends the next five months taking it back out of our souls, one 5 p.m. sunset at a time.

I hate it. I hate it with the fire of a thousand grills. And I’m going to tell you exactly why, on the record, from the throne.

The extra hour is a lie

Everybody says, “Oh, you get an extra hour of sleep!” No, I don’t. I have kids. I have a dog. The dog does not know about daylight saving time. The dog’s bladder runs on sun time, and the sun has no idea what the government decided. So at 5 a.m. new time, which is 6 a.m. old time, which is “why are you licking my face” time, the dog is standing on my chest like a furry alarm clock.

Extra hour. Sure. Where’d it go? I’ll tell you where it went. It went to standing in the kitchen trying to figure out how to change the time on the microwave.

The clocks

Let’s count the clocks in a typical American house that need to be changed by hand:

• The microwave. Requires pressing buttons in a sequence known only to the engineer who designed it and possibly one guy on the internet.
• The oven. Has a different sequence than the microwave, for no reason, out of spite.
• The truck. Buried four menus deep in a screen that also controls the radio, the seat warmers, and apparently the national power grid.
• The coffee maker. Doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to set it either way. It’s been blinking 12:00 since we bought it.
• The wall clock in the garage. Needs a ladder. I’ll get to it in March, which is perfect timing, because then it’ll be right again.

Every house ends up with that one clock that’s wrong for half the year. You just learn to do the math in your head. “Okay, the stove says 4:15, so it’s actually 3:15, unless it’s the other half of the year, in which case it’s correct, and I’m wrong.” It’s a mental health crisis disguised as a kitchen appliance.

5 p.m. darkness

And now, for the next several months, it gets dark at five. Five o’clock! You leave work, and it’s night. You get home, and it’s night. You want to grill, and it’s night. I’ve grilled by flashlight. I’ve grilled by the light of my phone. I’ve grilled by the glow of the neighbor’s inflatable lawn decoration. It’s not right. A man deserves to see his burgers.

“Spring forward” is worse

Don’t even get me started on spring. In spring they take an hour from you while you’re sleeping. Like a thief. You wake up, and you’ve lost an hour, and everybody’s late to everything, and every car crash statistic goes up, and we all just accept it, like sheep. Tired, grumpy sheep.

My proposal

Pick one. I don’t care which. Pick a time and leave it there forever. Let the clocks rest. Let the dogs adjust. Let the microwave keep its dignity. Let a man grill in the daylight like his ancestors did.

Until then, I’ll be in the kitchen pressing random buttons on the oven and swearing in a low, steady voice. If you need me, follow the beeping.

Shop the damn thing: Tees for men who are done with this shit.

Sound off in the comments: Which clock in your house never gets changed? Be honest. Mine’s the truck.