Don’t you just love waiting for something, and all the anticipation and anxiety that sometimes comes with it?
You may have even waited all week for this week’s Arcadian to come out to see what’s been going on locally.
We’re all waiting for something. I’m waiting to see where I’m going with this column, even.
We all go way back with waiting, even before we can remember, when we waited for our bottle of milk or to have our diapers changed. Screaming was a part of our earliest waiting — I don’t remember doing it, but figured that out when I had my own kids.
Remember the eternity it was when we waited for school to let out for the summer? How about the eons between Christmases, and especially the night before Christmas? I’m quite sure that night was a decade long.
Speaking of waiting and anxiety, remember your mom uttering the seven most terrifying words ever heard by a child? “Just wait until your father gets home!” Then your poor, unsuspecting dad would be accosted at the front door by your hysterical mom before he could even say, “Honey, I’m home, what’s for supper, and fetch my slippers” and would be escorted to your room and be thrashing your backside before even he had a clue about what going on.
Or how about when a school bully told you he was going to pound you after school? Lots of dread there, as word spread and you knew there’d be a crowd waiting to watch that guy follow through on his promise to punch you so hard that your kids would be born with a headache.
Lots of women spend years waiting for “Mr. Right.” Well, I can tell them exactly where he is — right where he’s always been, at the back of a long line of Mr. Wrongs. Same works for the guys, and Cupid could save everybody a lot of heartache by making the lines co-ed, I think.
They say a watched pot never boils. That is, unless you’re the lobster.
I’ve heard it said that a minute can stretch into an eternity, depending on which side of the bathroom door you’re own. Can’t argue with that, friends.
There is an art to waiting, like everything else.
I find that when a traffic light seems to be stuck on red, if I busy myself doing something else like clipping my nails or trimming my moustache in the mirror, it turns green in a jiffy. And I’m reminded/alerted by those kind folks in line behind me, honking their horns and shaking their fists.
Doctors offices abuse the term “waiting room,” despite free coffee, elevator music, and stacks of magazines old enough to be on some collector’s archive list somewhere. I’ve sat there so long that I couldn’t remember if it was me who was waiting to be called, or if I was waiting for somebody I’d brought there to come out after their appointment. I think doctors offices should have sofas, recliners, even hammocks to snooze in.
The word “anticipation” brings to mind singer-songwriter Carly Simon’s early ‘70s album and song title by the same name. It was a hit, and regained popularity by decade’s end when it was used in a Heinz Ketchup commercial.
Remember the ad, with folks waiting forever for the ketchup to come out of the bottle? Trivia-wise, she supposedly was inspired to write the song while waiting for a date with fellow artist Cat Stevens. More trivia: his given name was Steven Demtre Georgiou, which he later changed legally to Yusef Islam, but that’s a whole ‘nuther story.
Speaking of waiting, I’m sure you’ve been waiting for me to wrap this up so you could read more interesting things in the paper today, so go for it. I’ve been waiting to get a snack, so I’ll go do that. But sometimes I have to wonder … is it worth the “weight?”