If any article has ever deserved to be placed in the “Writer’s Block” family of articles, it is this one. I have been so destitute of anything remotely resembling an idea that it would be laughable if it was not so terribly serious. I have attempted to simply wait it out, which is why I have not written all week up to now. But since the “Writer’s Block” series lacks an article for June, and since simply waiting it out may not be the surest way to beat the problem, I am writing today. Who knows? I may have waited so long that I have forgotten how to write, or at least forgotten my old style and created an entirely different one. But I do know this – the fact that I am writing proves the truth borne out by the words of that old 1960s song – I can’t wait forever, ‘cause time won’t let me.
Speaking of waiting, there are different types of waiting, all of them with their own interesting nuances. I experienced one of them not too long ago. The type of waiting I have in mind is waiting at a restaurant, and not just any restaurant – it must be anything other than a fast-food restaurant (because no one really waits at a fast-food restaurant, and if they do, they are out the door in a heartbeat due to false advertising on the part of said fast-food restaurant). No, I have in mind those restaurants that are a little more substantial – they have menus, and waiters, and something approaching an ambience. In such restaurants – depending on the time of day, the part of town, and the reputation of the eatery – you will encounter a waiting period every so often. I was in a Mexican restaurant not too long ago, and we were no sooner in the door than we were informed that there would be a twenty-minute wait.
Now, all manner of things happen during this twenty-minute wait. You can look at the disgruntled would-be fellow-eaters around you, who were informed forty-five minutes ago that their wait was going to be twenty minutes. You can smugly eye the newcomers after you, who are informed that their wait will be a full half-hour (although your smugness turns to chagrin when you realize that something must have gone wrong to extend the waiting period). You can, discreetly with your eyes, follow out the door the rather large-sized family of twelve that just finished their dinner, wondering if there could possibly be any food left in the joint. Then relief comes in the form of another hefty family of thirteen that comes in, at which you realize that you came in ahead of them and just might get a dinner after all if you can only manage to squeeze into a booth before they get theirs and no doubt put the place out of business for a month. Then you begin to wonder if, with all of these large families coming in, the lobby won’t become a real-life recreation of the ridiculous Marx Brothers scene where there are far too many people for the room. And that is the point at which a tired-looking waiter comes and invites you to follow him to your table.
Other kinds of waiting are simply terrifying. Take, for instance, the tax office or the driver’s license office. All you really want to do is get some new tags for your car or renew your license or something presumably simple. The only problem is it’s not simple. First you realize that you got there five minutes later than you should have, which means that a line of no less than 55 persons has formed in front of you. You take your number and humor yourself with the idea that 52 or 53 of those people will have quick business to take care of. What you will not let your mind consider is that there is really only one person at the desk today (the girl that got hired a week ago Friday), and the people in front of you would have had simple errands if only they had come prepared. But no – one person can’t speak good English, and another one has to go back out to the car because they forgot something. Then two or three get into a heated argument with the girl at the desk. And all this time there are no magazines to read, chairs to sit in, or music to listen to (unless you count the oldies that are just audible out of the back room where two or three clerks that could be working are taking an amazingly long time with their lunch break, which consists of two amazingly small Taco Bell burritos). By the time it’s all over, you have either forgotten what you came for or given up altogether.
Waiting at the doctor’s office can be somewhat interesting, especially if you don’t care for doctors or their offices. There are usually stacks of different magazines from two months ago, and you may flip through these even though you don’t really care about who broke up with whom or about the feature story in Sports Illustrated about that pitcher’s exercise program that keeps him in shape at 52. All this time you are full of nervous fidgeting (again, assuming you don’t like doctors). You tap your foot at a few dumb songs playing quietly over the speakers. You stare at the people around you and wonder what they’re in here for. Then you wonder what your doctor is going to say, whether your blood pressure will be too high, whether you’ll have to get a shot, or eye drops, or some such unpleasant procedure. By the time the nurse yells your name the waiting is over.
Some waiting can be excruciating, such as when you are waiting for important and possibly unpleasant news. For instance, after Hurricane Ike we waited anxiously as my father went to see if our house was still in the zip code. It was (thank God), but the time we waited seemed like hours, and it was one of the most uncomfortable times in my memory.
All in all, I suppose waiting can make time slow down, especially if you’re focusing intently on whatever it is you’re waiting for. It goes back to the old adage of “a watched pot never boils”. Take me, for instance – I’ve been waiting for weeks now for my college diploma to arrive in the mail. I’ve even forgotten about it. But it still hasn’t come.
Well, it wasn’t so bad writing a little something while I wait for a good idea. I’m glad to get some of that rust off and discover that I haven’t forgotten how to spel. Now I’ll go back to waiting out this case of writer’s block. If it’s to be a staring contest between me and it, then there’s no question of who will win. That block has to blink sometime. I think. Or at least I hope.
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