An apology from Jon

Punctuality is the politeness of kings.

- Louis XVIII

Earlier today, while working from home, I left my house for a time to run a couple of errands. Before doing so, I made sure to log my temporary absence:

Given the nature of the errands I needed to run -- I needed to pick up my clean laundry prior to this evening, and, after all, the post office closes at 5 o’clock -- I felt it necessary to conduct this business during the day. I felt that 36 minutes allowed me more than enough time, given that both establishments are quite close to one another, and only a few minutes’ walk from my home.

I was late returning. A full 10 minutes late, in fact.

Were my tardiness a simple function of my failure to properly estimate how long it would take me to run my errands, said tardiness might at least by understood, if not condoned.

It wasn’t.

On the way home, I elected to pick up lunch (some chicken and rice at a favorite deli of mine). I realized that I was out of groceries, and did not plan on visiting the grocery store until later. I needed lunch, and was hungry.

That is no excuse.

I wish I could stand before you, hat in hand, and assure you that this comprises the beginning and end of my transgressions this afternoon.

I cannot.

Upon signing back in, as you might have noticed, I, in fact, signed myself back in. As you might figure, that runs afoul of virtually every sign-in procedure in existence. I could have sought the authorization of another party. I did not. I was ashamed. I hoped that I would perhaps be saved by the fact that I signed in at precisely 1:10 p.m. That is only one digit removed from my promised return time of 1:00 p.m., and I imagined that perhaps my lateness would be overlooked.

No, this was not merely an error in judgment or calculation. It was an act of willful deception.

Perhaps the only silver lining of this incident is that I have come to realize my inability to carry on with such a charade. Whether deceit is innate or learned, I do not know; in either case, it would appear as though I am no good at it. But I cannot praise myself in one breath without cursing my cowardice and untrustworthiness in the following dozen.

I want to apologize to all of you.

I want to apologize to those I report to at SB Nation: Spencer Hall, Elena Bergeron, and Brian Floyd. The three of you have placed a great deal of trust in me, and I despair to think that this trust was misplaced, even for a day. I want to stress that neither they nor anyone else at this company has instructed or urged me to write this apology, which comes from me and me alone.

I want to apologize to Jim Bankoff, the CEO of Vox Media, who more than six years ago authorized my hiring. Working within this company has always been, and continues to be, an enormous privilege. I certainly doubt you intended to hire a deceitful, no-count wretch. I will redouble my efforts to make sure that is not so.

I want to apologize to everyone else at Vox Media, in fact -- not only to my associates at SB Nation, but to those of you at The Verge, Polygon, Vox, Ryan Nanni’s Sunglasses Barn!, Curbed, Eater, Racked, and Re/code. I understand that my reputation is inseparable from that of the company at large. My misgiving reflects poorly upon all of us. This is not lost on me.

Finally -- and, perhaps, most of all -- I want to apologize to all my readers and Twitter followers. Talking with you is a pleasure each and every day. You are the reason I am here, and I would certainly not be here were it not for all of you. You have never let me down, and to return that unwavering support with such a thoughtless shortcoming ... well, it is not how I was raised. It is not who I am. Or, at least, it is not who I want to be.

I am sorry to all of you. Your continued trust in me is clearly trust I do not deserve, but it is trust I intend never to betray again.

Thank you.

Jon Bois
SB Nation