Wait Right Here

There's really nothing special about being on time.  You set up a meeting and both parties show up at the hour specified to discuss business, embark on a blind date, take a piano lesson, attend that overpriced seminar on The History of Bamboo, assume the position for a colonoscopy, meet with the detective to answer questions as to where you were on the night of the 15th, or maybe just to discuss with a neighbor why his dog won't stop barking in the middle of the night, every night, every single night for the past three weeks for no apparent reason (you know who you are!).  Fact is, it's all pretty much standard stuff (except for that freakin' dog).  Everything changes, however, when someone's forced to wait, because waiting immediately starts testing our patience.  That same patience that, for centuries, has been deemed a virtue, no doubt by entitled people who've made a habit of not showing up on time.

When we're talkin' "waiting", and its degree of patience-testing, we need to consider a host of variables: length of wait time; excuse given; which party has the most power/leverage; history of past encounters (is it customary or a one-off?) and, of course, the degree the "late to the party" individual evinces their contriteness.  If you've waited twenty minutes, say, in L.A., where I'm at, and the excuse is the outrageous traffic--a given in SoCal--then you're practically considered early so no harm, no foul.  However, if you're, I don't know, a screenwriter and your contact is an uppity producer, then none of the other variables matter as their leverage is off the charts, be it the first or tenth time you've gotten together.  And, yeah, in that case they won't be apologizing; you will.  "I'm sorry I arrived so early; I certainly didn't mean to show you up.  How 'bout a drink?  Can I pay for your lunch?"...  Okay, I hear it; I'm digressing (sorry, that scar tissue never goes away).

Let's face it, waiting has been a thing since, like, the caveman days, what with all the dudes out hunting, leaving the womenfolk to pace nervously around the sundial, not a clue as to when to start tossing the salad, let alone which wine to open to pair with the meal ("Chardonnay's fine for dire wolf but if it's giant sloth again we're gonna need a hearty Cab").  And yeah, it certainly made its presence felt with Noah and his menagerie, careening around in the open seas for months before finally docking at Ararat.  Likewise, those Greek soldiers, holed up in the dark in that musty old wooden horse, sans ventilation and rest rooms, waiting for the right time to pounce on the Trojans (in either case, clean-up duty had to have been a bitch)... Funny how these grueling scenarios play out against the recent trifling couple of days when white-knuckled Catholics were beside themselves, unable to turn away from their TVs, laptops, tablets and smartphones, desperately waiting for the black smoke to change to white, signaling a new pontiff, positive proof that patience ain't what it used to be.  

Also funny, is how we've not only become accustomed to waiting but in certain instances expect it.  Imagine you're at some big arena show and the lead singer arrives onstage with his band promptly at 8 o'clock sharp, clear-eyed and ready to rock.  You'd feel cheated, right?  These guys aren't supposed to play by the rules; it's arrogance and pretentiousness that we've come to expect.  That and some good old fashioned debauchery.  "What happened to Axl; since when does he show up on time?  Damn it, we're gonna be out of here by ten!"  Same with a doctor's appointment; you walk into the office prepared to wait ('cause, yeah, they have their own "waiting room") only to be seen right away?  You'd be, like, "Whoa, how come this woman doesn't have more patients?"  You want the full treatment, an extended waiting room stay followed by a seat alone in the smaller waiting room just like all the other patients with the really cool, popular doctors.

Indeed, "waiting" is such a part of our lives that it's often portrayed in the arts, be it Carly Simon's song, "Anticipation" that "Is making me late; Is keeping me waiting" (sounds like a cop out to me) or Samuel Beckett's play, "Waiting for Godot" (who, by the way, never even makes the scene) or Picasso's painting, "Waiting" (done at age twenty, as he waited to become famous).  Or in more modern times, in the recently popular sitcom now in syndication, "How I Met Your Mother", the character of Barney Stinson, who kept everyone on pins and needles with his, "It's gonna be- legen-'wait-for-it'... dary!"  Like I said, patience ain't what it used to be.