We spend so much time waiting.
These last two days I spent a lot of my time, energy, and brain power waiting to pick up my medications at the Walmart pharmacy.
Yesterday a woman with huge thighs and butt that jiggled under a tight pair of jeggings let her two sons rifle through a bin filled with bandages.
As the line slowly creeped and the time ticked away, I tried to distract my mind from the time, from my next appointment, from anything that would turn me into a whirling Tasmanian devil. I managed barely. I even managed to be polite when I found out that my wait was in vain.
Yesterday, I was angry. Today, well, I wonder why we spend so much time waiting and in this case, waiting for no result. I suppose I could have tried to cut the line, but that woman in front of me had the shoulders of a linebacker. She was even able to get all of the objects out of her boys’ hands with a cellphone tight to her ear as she was talking into the phone and to the pharmacy tech.
I tell myself that it is all good. I can practice my descriptive skills and maybe in one of my next stories, I could make the pharmacy tech a villain. Although she was less a villain and more an overworked and underpaid woman that just wanted to have a lunch break.
I suppose in this country we wait because we have that inner need for fairness and justice. We believe that the line is for all. No one gets to cut. At least not until you become sick in the middle of the store in some way.
I’ve been in Panama where you thought you were in line and find that you are being pushed away from the counter by the mob instead of getting your turn. I learned there to use my elbows and muscle my way in. I even got a hamburger and a Coke.
But this malaise of lines goes deeper for me. I have been in so many lines the past two weeks that I want to bang my head against the wall, causing brain damage of course, so I won’t have to do it again. There is a particular type of torture with lines.