The Morning It All Started Late
I should have known the day would unravel the moment my alarm surrendered to the Caribbean heat. The fan sputtered its last gust, the power flickered, and my cell-phone battery — that faithful digital rooster — gave up at 3 a.m. By the time I bolted upright, sunlight was already ricocheting off the brightly painted colmado across the street. I was supposed to be in downtown Santo Domingo, at a notary’s office, signing apartment papers thirty minutes ago.
Sprint-showering while muttering “¡Ay, la vaina!” under my breath, I rehearsed excuses. I knew the verbs had to do the heavy lifting. In every language, timing is delicate, but in the Dominican Republic, lateness can shift from forgivable to insulting if you pick the wrong Spanish verbs. Should I say “me retrasé” (I got delayed) or soften things with “se me hizo tarde” (time got away from me)? The difference, I’ve learned, is the difference between an eye-roll and a warm smile that says “tráfico es así”.
Fifteen sweaty minutes later, I landed in a concho headed for the city center, the engine rattling like an out-of-tune güira. The driver laughed as I explained: “Compai, se me quedó el celular sin carga y ahora ando corriendo.” He shrugged in that unbothered Dominican way: “Tranquilo, manito, eso nos pasa a to’.”
Still, my lawyer wouldn’t be so relaxed. I rehearsed again, chewing on the rhythm of the verbs, because Spanish verbs aren’t just grammar; they’re social survival gear.
Fast-forward two weeks and 1,300 kilometers north in Medellín: same gringo, different crisis. An afternoon aguacero had choked the Avenida Oriental, and my bus to a language-exchange café sat frozen in a river of yellow taxis. When I texted my Colombian friend Juliana, she shot back: “No te preocupes, parcero, todos estamos atrapados. Avísame cuando estés llegando.”
Her casual estés—the present subjunctive of estar—felt like a cushion. Even in Colombia, Spanish verbs work like interpersonal WD-40, making lateness slide smoother.
Those twin disasters—Santo Domingo’s dead phone and Medellín’s monsoon—taught me that the art of apologizing for tardiness is equal parts vocabulary, cultural awareness, and a dash of self-deprecating charm. Let’s explore how to keep your dignity intact when your watch betrays you.
Cultural Time Warps: “Ahorita” vs. “Ya Mismo”
How a Tiny Word Warped My Afternoon
In Santiago de los Caballeros, a barber once promised to start my haircut “ahorita.” Forty minutes and two empanadas later, I was still waiting. In Colombia, when my Spanish teacher said class would begin “ahorita,” she meant five seconds from that very moment. Same adverb, two planets.
Dominicans bend time like bachata guitar strings. “Ahora” can mean now, later today, or mañana depende de Dios. “Ahorita” might be in ten minutes—or never, if a fresh pot of café appears. Colombians, by contrast, run tight ships in cities like Bogotá and Medellín. If you promise “ya mismo,” gear up; they’re already checking their watch.
That contrast shapes the verbs you’ll need. Saying “voy llegando” (= I’m on my way) in Bogotá is precise; you’d better see the building. In Santo Domingo, “voy llegando” often rings like “I just woke up but I’m optimistic.”
Cultural Gem
In Bogotá a simple “tinto” gets you a small black coffee; in Santo Domingo, “tinte” sends you to a hairdresser’s chair. Double-check your vowels, or you’ll wind up caffeinated—or freshly dyed.
The Soft-Landing Verbs That Rescue Your Reputation
Mastering polite excuses begins with four powerhouse constructs:
- Se me hizo tarde – Literally “it made itself late to me.” Blames time, not you.
- Me retrasé – Straight confession: “I delayed myself.” Owning it earns points in Colombia.
- Estoy en camino – I’m on the way. Share your live location to prove it.
- Voy llegando – I’m almost there. Use it when you’re within sight, or risk Dominican eye-rolls.
Notice how each hinges on Spanish verbs in the reflexive or progressive form. Swap the subject, shift the blame, or soften the blow—the right verb choice is a peace offering wrapped in grammar.
When I land in a new Colombian city, I default to directness: “Perdona, me retrasé; el bus no pasó a tiempo.” Back in the DR, I keep it lighter: “Mi hermano, se me fue la guagua; llego en un chin.” Same tardiness, different soundtrack.
Cultural Gem
In the DR, traffic lights are suggestions after 10 p.m., so “tráfico” is an acceptable excuse at any hour. In Medellín, the metro runs like clockwork, so blaming “tráfico” there feels flimsy unless a downpour just hit.
Practical Vocabulary
Below you’ll find verbs, nouns, and colorful fillers that’ll keep your lateness apologies smooth. Think of it as a linguistic first-aid kit.
| Spanish | English | Usage Tip |
|---|---|---|
| se me hizo tarde | it got late on me | Blames time, not you |
| me retrasé | I got delayed | Owns responsibility; use wisely |
| estoy en camino | I’m on my way | Works everywhere; send location |
| voy llegando | I’m almost there | Use when <10 min out |
| llego en un chin (DR) | I’ll be there in a bit | Dominican casual, “chin” ≈ minute |
| llego ahoritica (CO) | I’ll be there very soon | Colombian diminutive intensifier |
| el tapón (DR) | traffic jam | Literally “cork”; vivid in Santo Domingo |
| el trancón (CO) | traffic jam | Bogotá slang; same headache |
| la guagua (DR) | public bus | Bumpy but beloved |
| el busetón (CO) | mini-bus | Often the darting variety |
| coger un concho (DR) | share a moto/taxi | Cheap, communal ride |
| pedir un picó (CO) | call a taxi | Street hail in Medellín |
| vaina (DR) | thingamajig/problem | Swiss-army noun; keep it friendly |
| chévere (CO) | cool/awesome | Universal Colombian approval |
| bacano (CO) | great | Younger crowd slang |
| concho | shared taxi | Use for short hops |
| motoconcho | moto taxi | Brace for adrenaline |
| parqueo (DR) | parking | Also a verb: parquear |
| parquear | to park (Spanglish) | Acceptable in DR, not Spain |
| estacionar | to park | Neutral |
| pararse | to stop/stand | Reflexive verb |
| quedarse | to stay/remain | Reflexive; blame the bus: se quedó |
| meterse | to get into | As in traffic |
| disculpa/disculpe | excuse me (tú/usted) | Open every apology |
| perdón | sorry | Stronger than disculpa |
| mil disculpas | a thousand apologies | Dramatic flair |
| no fue mi intención | wasn’t my intention | Softens mishap |
| un imprevisto | an unforeseen event | Formal scapegoat |
| la tormenta | the storm | In tropical zones, frequent ally |
| el aguacero (CO) | downpour | Expect city-wide gridlock |
| la llovizna | drizzle | Bogotá’s daily soundtrack |
| el calorazo (DR) | scorching heat | Blame it for everything |
| la apagón (DR) | blackout | When power cuts off |
| el corte de luz (CO) | power outage | More formal |
| el tapón de la Lincoln (DR) | traffic on Lincoln Ave. | Santo Domingo insiders will nod |
| la hora pico | rush hour | Same pain, different country |
| dar la vuelta | to take a detour | As in traffic |
| atravesar | to cross | Use with la ciudad |
| alcanzar | to catch up | No alcancé la guagua |
| quedarse sin batería | to run out of battery | Modern calamity |
| enchufar | to plug in | Necesito enchufar mi celu |
| cargar el celular | to charge the phone | Key survival verb |
| llegar con retraso | to arrive late | Formal, good for offices |
| estar varado (CO) | to be stranded | For bus strikes or floods |
Real-Life Mini-Dialogues
A Dominican Paperwork Fiasco
James (DR): “¡Disculpa, licenciado! Se me hizo tarde cuando la guagua se dañó en el tapón.”
**Sorry, counselor! Time got away from me when the bus broke down in traffic._
Lawyer: “Tranquilo, mientras trajeras los documentos, todo bien.”
Relax; as long as you brought the documents, all’s good.
James: “Claro, los tengo aquí mismito.”
Sure, I have them right here.
Medellín Coffee Meetup
James (CO): “Juliana, perdona, me retrasé por el aguacero.”
Juliana, sorry, I got delayed by the downpour.
Juliana: “Quedé varada también, parcero. Nos vemos en diez.”
I got stranded too, buddy. See you in ten.
Santo Domingo Gym Session
James (DR): “Manito, estoy en camino, pero el concho se paró a echar gasolina.”
Bro, I’m on the way, but the shared taxi stopped for gas.
Trainer: “Dale, llegas y calentamos.”
Cool, you arrive and we warm up.
Bogotá Office Interview
James (CO): “Buenos días, señora Gómez. Voy llegando; un trancón en la Séptima me frenó.”
Good morning, Mrs. Gómez. I’m almost there; a jam on Séptima stopped me.
Señora Gómez: “Entiendo. Tome su tiempo, pero avíseme al entrar.”
Understood. Take your time, but let me know when you enter.
Dominican Beach BBQ
James (DR): “¡Ey, compai! Se me quedó el celular sin carga. ¿Dónde están ustedes?”
Hey pal! My phone died. Where are you guys?
Friend: “Frente al kiosco de Johnny. Ven que la cerveza se calienta.”
In front of Johnny’s kiosk. Come before the beer warms up.
Cartagena Sunset Cruise
James (CO): “Capitán, no fue mi intención llegar tarde; perdí el busetón.”
Captain, it wasn’t my intention to arrive late; I missed the mini-bus.
Captain: “Suba rápido, que el sol no espera.”
Climb aboard quickly; the sun doesn’t wait.
Santiago Doctor’s Appointment
James (DR): “Doctora, mil disculpas, llego en un chin. El motoconcho pinchó.”
Doctor, a thousand apologies, I’ll be there in a bit. The moto taxi got a flat.
Doctora: “Sin problema, lo espero.”
No problem, I’ll wait for you.
Medellín Salsa Class
James (CO): “Profe, estoy en camino; el metro quedó lleno.”
Teacher, I’m on my way; the metro got packed.
Instructor: “Ensayamos el paso cuando llegues. Tranquilo.”
We’ll practice the step when you arrive. Don’t worry.
Santo Domingo Date Night
James (DR): “Cariño, voy llegando, el tapón en la 27 está durísimo.”
Honey, I’m nearly there; traffic on 27th is brutal.
Date: “Ok, pero la película empieza ahorita, ¿eh?”
Okay, but the movie starts soon, eh?
Bogotá Afternoon Meeting
James (CO): “Jefe, me retrasé por una protesta. Alcanzaré la reunión en cinco.”
Boss, I got delayed by a protest. I’ll catch the meeting in five.
Boss: “Perfecto, traiga el reporte.”
Perfect, bring the report.
Dominican Carnavales Parade
James (DR): “¡Disculpa, loco! Estoy en camino, pero el desfile bloqueó la calle.”
Sorry, dude! I’m on the way, but the parade blocked the street.
Friend: “Aquí guardamos tu careta. Llega con calma.”
We’re saving your mask here. Arrive calmly.
Cultural Gem
In Cartagena, a taxi “ya casi” can still be fifteen minutes. In Santo Domingo, “un chin” might be five or fifty. Ask for ETA in minutes to survive.
When Excuses Fail—Body Language & Tone Save the Day
Latin America forgives tardiness more readily if your face and voice match the apology. Lower your pitch, keep eye contact, and throw in a gentle smile. Dominicans appreciate a playful shrug and a quick “tú sabes cómo es esto.” Colombians respect straightforwardness: tell them exactly how many minutes you’ll need.
I once arrived forty-five minutes late to a seminar in Bogotá. Instead of rambling, I shook the coordinator’s hand firmly, said, “Perdón por el retraso, hubo paro en la autopista,” and offered to shorten my presentation so we’d finish on time. That blend of apology and solution earned nods and, eventually, a second invitation.
Remember, verbs do half the job; delivery seals the deal. Your Spanish verbs—conjugated just right—lay the foundation, but your energy builds the house.
The Double-Life Advantage: Bouncing Between Two Clocks
Shuttling between Caribbean elasticity and Andean punctuality forces my ear to stay alert. In the DR, I practice padding my verbs: “llego ahora-ahora.” In Colombia, I trim the fat: “llego en tres.” This constant adjustment sharpens not only my vocabulary but my cultural empathy. I’ve learned to ask locals how they interpret “ahorita” before assuming we share timelines.
Each missed bus, stalled concho, or flooded avenida adds fresh verbs to my toolkit. And every apology—if delivered with sincerity—tightens friendships. Spanish verbs are infinite chess pieces; we, the expats, are perpetually mid-game, learning which move makes the locals smile.
Ready to Share Your Tales?
Have you ever mixed up “ya mismo” and “ahorita”? Did a Dominican motoconcho save your meeting, or did a Bogotá downpour trap you in traffic? Drop your stories—and any late-arrival verbs you’ve collected—below. Let’s expand this living dictionary together, one tardy adventure at a time.
Meta: Learn polite excuses with the right Spanish verbs, Dominican vs. Colombian timing tips, and dialogues to sound natural even when you’re running late.Tools
