I hate waiting. Waiting sucks large, beefy balls with coarse hair. I spend at least fifteen minutes waiting in traffic on the way to work, one way. I make the trip twelve times a week. That’s…a lot of minutes, which adds up to hours. You do the math because I’m tired. But the point is that I could be doing all kinds of exciting and productive things with the hunnnnnndreds of hours I waste each year waiting. I am sure that cures for cancer, poverty, AIDS, illiteracy, and chin hairs on women have not been discovered because researchers were in fucking lines instead of back at the lab discovering miracles.
My favorite type of waiting is at the doctor’s office because there is nothing like flipping through a two-year-old golf magazine to pass the time. Doctors continue the practice of populating their waiting rooms with mind-sucking materials because they allow their staff to book sixteen patients for each fifteen minutes in the workday, and they’re hoping that the crowd will thin out a little from boredom-related deaths.
The best waiting ever is at Walmart. I just cannot beat standing in the 20-items-or-less (“FEWER,” Walmart! FEWER.) EXPRESS lane with my ONE item for 35 minutes while a couple unload twin buggies of supplies for the apparent start-up of a large convenience store. How difficult would it have been for a WM employee to direct the assholes kindly to a regular line? Noooo. It’s way better just to prevent the discovery of the secret of string theory. I almost had it too, but I had to go to Walmart for some string.