On The Plight Of Waiting
I was in a waiting room recently. It doesn’t matter why—that’s not the point, it’s none of your business, and if you ask me again, I will sue.
….you need a photo of a leopard. Uh, okay. I kind of was—no, it’s fine. I just. I was sort of in the middle of—No, no, it’s okay. I—ok. When do you need this—tomorrow? And it’s only coming up now? You have to present a diorama on leopards tomorrow and you’re wondering if I have a shoebox you can use. Right. Okay. Let me check…
This is the only shoebox I have. It’s from my cowboy boots. It—I don’t care if it’s too big, you’re going to have to make do. As for the leopard… how about this? You don’t want him licking himself. Right. Uh… this one? Perfect? Great. Can I—? Okay. Good luck with that.
Where was I? Waiting rooms. Immediate access to everything. Right! These days, you’d think a place that requires momentary stillness and patience would be a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of modern day life.
You’d be wrong.
You see, not everyone approaches “waiting” the same way. The clinic I attended apparently thinks that the poppiest of pop music will make my time sitting idly for 45 minutes in an uncomfortable wooden chair more enjoyable. Personally, I don’t see the logic of an absurdly upbeat playlist when people are staring down life-changing diseases. Imagine finding out your health is forever changed, and as you walk out the door, you hear “Baby” by Justin Bieber.
Fortunately, that was not my experience. Unfortunately, my experience did include one of the other soon-to-be patients singing along to “Replay” by Jason Derulo—a moment which, no matter how much I try to forget, continues to replay in my mind.
And of course, no early-morning waiting room experience would be complete without the yearning, hopeful jam of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” by Whitney Houston gracing your eardrums. To be clear, I don’t dislike the song. I remember where I was when Whitney died (in a waiting room, so this was actually very triggering for me). But I wasn’t at the doctor’s office to dance with somebody. I was there to pee in a cup.
You may be—sorry? You need grass for your diorama. Can’t you use a marker, or some construction paper? What? You don’t know if we have markers or construction paper. Well, why don’t you—I’m trying to help, but I’m trying to write something here and—don’t talk to me like that! It’s not my fault you waited until the last second to make this big cat shoebox! Well, I hate you, too!!
…
Okay. Uh. Sorry about that. I was saying…uhm. Okay.
You may be wondering, why wouldn’t I just put my own headphones in?
…Damnit.
My whole flow is off now.
So, there was Whitney Houston going, and the guy singing “Replay” by Jason Derulo, and… so, if I was so annoyed, why wouldn’t I put my own headphones in? Well, I wish I could have… but I needed to hear when my number was called. I didn’t want to be that guy who gets his number called three times. I wanted to actually be able to give the nurses who work so hard my immediate attention.
But no good deed goes unpunished. Because, more infuriating than the pop music of a bygone era, was the guy a couple seats down from me… doomscrolling without headphones. *Thunder strikes*
Ah, yes. Because when I go out in public, I’m just desperately hoping for a chance to listen to someone else skipping through their feed of dance videos, background music, and TV show dialogue. It’s what keeps me sane.
You’d think I’d have been relieved when he got called in. And I was… for about twenty seconds. Because then, the guy across from me started watching videos without headphones, as if he was under contractual obligation to pick up from where the other bozo left off.
Are people out of their goddamn minds? Does anyone have common sense anymore? Are you almost finished with your diorama? I’m invested now.
Point is… good things don’t come to those who wait. Unless you count a lollipop. Lollipops are good. I like them. But you don’t need to wait for them. Just go to the store. Idiot.