We acquired a new guitar player on Sunday. Omar Hadad, from Argentina, but born in Deep River Ontario while his father was working at the nuclear research facility there 22 years ago. Omar's ID badge says 'Omar Hadad, Canada' although he left the country when he was one and a half months old, and has no recollection whatsoever of it.

Omar is a young, and very enthusiastic musician. Unfortunately, despite his enthusiasm for music, he has a Memo Acevedo-like tendency to be late for appointments. Memo, a Colombian drummer with whom I was frequently on the road in the Hagood Hardy days, was chronically late, or 'almost late'. It drove me crazy at first, but I sort of learned to ignore it.

I truly feel sorry for these people who must endure significant expense and embarrassment because of their chronic lateness.

My first indication that Omar had this problem was when he described his trip from the hotel in Miami to the ship in Port Canaveral – by cab!

“You took a taxi from Miami to Port Canaveral? Why, that's a three and a half hour ride! How much did it cost you?”

“Four hundred dollars”, he said.

“But why didn't you take the shuttle that Royal Caribbean provides? It's free, you know.”

I thought maybe he didn't understand the instructions he had been given, but his English, although heavily accented, is actually quite good. Anyway, it turns out that language wasn't the problem.

“I meessed the shottle. Eet was too early. I was very sleepy.”

Shades of Memo already. Memo was always preparing his special coffee to keep him awake (he would even take his coffee maker into restaurants where he would ask for a plug, occupy a table, make his own coffee, and buy nothing. Surprisingly, he was often accommodated).

Well, it's true that the shuttle picks you up at 5:30 a.m. in Miami. That's early, all right, but it's one of those things you just have to get up for. Four hundred dollars is a lot by anybody's standards, but it must seem like a fortune to an Argentinian. I felt a little sorry for him.

In addition to requiring sufficient sleep, young Omar is the type who waits until the last minute to leave for an appointment, such as a rehearsal or a gig. I don't know what else he has to do on the ship that is so pressing, but so far he has not allowed sufficient time to be ready to start a rehearsal or gig at the designated time.

And the fact is, it's only five steps from the door of his cabin to the door of the orchestra pit.

By some stroke of luck (which these people seem to be the frequent beneficiaries of) Omar's first lateness incident was overshadowed by the fact that our musical director was also late (he had forgotten to allow for a time change when we travel east, so he got up an hour late). This was our first rehearsal for the singers and dancers. Fortunately for Omar, nobody noticed that he was late too. But does that teach him a lesson?

Later that night it's time for the first production show. The show starts at 7:00 p.m., but the rule is to arrive at 6:45 to set up. Vern used to fine you a bottle of beer of you didn't arrive fifteen minutes ahead of time for any call. But Simon has no such policy in effect – yet.

So it gets to be five minutes to the hour, and everyone is ready, except Omar, who's chair remains unoccupied.

I turn to Simon and say, “Do you want me to check on our new guitar player?”

“Please.”

I walk the five steps to my cabin to find that Omar is in the bathroom.

“Ah, Omar... We, ah, need to be ready to go in less than five minutes.”

“I know, man. I had a bathroom emergency.”

See? He just doesn't allow for unforeseen circumstances. He thinks that's a valid excuse!

Shortly after I arrived back in the pit Omar rushes in and starts organizing his music, which is quite a chore, and can take some time. Some of the arrangements are ten or twelve pages long, and you have to organize your page changes carefully. It takes some thought and planning.

Finally, just before the curtain rises, Omar appears ready to go. The music is all set up on the stands, his amp is switched on and working, and he has tuned the guitar somewhat (not enough, though, as it turns out, what with new strings and all).

I breath a sigh of relief, although I don't know why I should care.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the Mariner Singers and Dancers!”

At this point the orchestra pit rises to the stage as we start playing. But the floor of the pit is divided into different platforms, and the section Omar and I are on is not the section the drums (which we are facing, and next to) are on. The drums rise to a different level about a foot lower than Omar and I. But Omar didn't know this (the pit didn't rise in the note rehearsal earlier that day).

So, after all the rushing and worrying, the bathroom emergencies, the frantic organizing of the music, and the attempt at tuning, Omar's music stands tip over into the drums before he even played a note (and in full view of the audience). He had located his two music stands such that they were partly on our platform, and partly on the drum platform.

The music went flying. Omar had to scurry around to collect it, and sit out the first couple of numbers while he reorganized it all.

You see, had Omar allowed sufficient time it is likely that I would have noticed the way he positioned his music stands, and would have been able to prevent the 'disaster'.

But you know what? It wasn't a disaster. We all lived through it, and now have a cute story to tell. The cruise line is still in business. We're all friends.

I have a lot to learn yet about the futility of worrying. Especially worrying about somebody else.