Once upon a time I taught a course, in Zürich. It was a good day. I was enthusiastic about the material, and it felt like the students were, too. But as usual, I crammed so many stories into the session that, by the afternoon, I was running late. I wasn’t worried, though, because my courses were always like that. I would do what I always did: just keep going a few minutes, 15 or so, past scheduled end time. That’s fine, right? It’s “bonus time,” …extra value.
Except in Zürich it wasn’t fine. At 17:00 sharp, right in the middle of me still saying words, a bunch of students gathered their belongings and exited the classroom. They just… left. And it wasn’t just back-row people. Some of the ones who left were the front-row, super-attentive, good-question–asking students who had smiled at all my jokes.
I gotta admit, it threw me off. Telling the day’s punch lines to only half an audience was kind of awful.
That evening before dinner, one of my Swiss friends explained for me what had happened. The students who had left had meant me no offense. They had a 17:07 train to catch. Missing the 17:07 train meant they’d be an hour and a half late getting home to their families. It was a 4-minute walk to the train station, so they needed to leave the classroom promptly at 17:00. They had probably felt quite embarrassed to walk out on my finale, but I hadn’t left them much of a choice.
I had never really thought about the importance of finishing on time before this incident, but in Switzerland, a schedule is a promise. Ending late is breaking that promise. When I end late, I’m stealing time from your next thing—and, through the ripple effect, possibly lots of other things as well. It’s not ok for me to do that. Of course, we can make in-game adjustments together, but if I need more time from you, I should ask for it. It’s wrong of me to just take it.
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