For all the waiting people of the world

I spent part of a rainy Saturday afternoon in Groucho’s Deli on Center and East Broad waiting for a friend. I sat by a window at one of those tables with the chairs higher than normal so you want to watch out and not be clumsy and fall and splat yourself on the floor. While I sat I drank hot coffee and watched the rain fall on the sidewalk as people walked by trying to avoid the small puddles that had started to form.

I didn’t think about much else except where my friend was at and I hoped nothing bad had happened to him. Then I realized I should not worry too much. People today do not take time seriously and as a result a lot of other peoples time is wasted---mine to be exact.

I sit in many meetings at church, school, work, committees and a homeowners association and I wait on a lot of people that are late. I always do the calculations while I sit. If there are 20 people in a room waiting on you and you show up 3 minutes late you just wasted 60 minutes of human life---and we don’t get it back ThankYouVeryMuch. What gives you the right to waste peoples’ lives? And no, you’re not that important. You knew you were supposed to be somewhere so grow up and shake a leg.

I stifle heavy sighs when the late party enters the room and acts as though they’ve just had to talk a Boeing 747 down from the sky and now they are trying to focus on the task at hand with the last of their remaining strength. A 7:00 meeting now starts at 7:15 and I miss “Survivor” on television.

If you’re one of those that show up late and it’s not your meeting and you interrupt 20 people you are not important—you’re an Interruption. “Had to take an important phone call” you announce and lucky us, we get to see your new Brooks Brothers suit or Prada blouse and skirt as you fumble for a seat. The meeting was booked five days ago. Puhleeze!

Late Comers get a break the rest of us do not get---we’ve done a lot of the heavy waiting so they don’t have to. Apologies are rarely forthcoming. It’s like; if you do not apologize it means you’re important. Your mother taught you that is just plain inconsiderate.

These days even friends do not bother to apologize for being late.

“Hi, I’ve been waiting for 10 minutes-- was worried about you.”

“Oh, I was answering an email and got distracted by a comment about fruit co-ops in Brazil. What’re you drinking---diet?”

I think there should be a rule. If you can’t haul your sweet self to a meeting at the appointed time, you pay for everybody’s lunch the next day but first you have to find everybody because like a covey of spooked quail—we’ve flown.

We’re at Groucho’s swinging from the chandeliers, dancing on table tops with roses in our mouths and singing old sailor songs. Fifty-three people have formed a conga line that goes out the door and onto the street. Police sirens are wailing and someone’s singing “Jenny Jenny”. Sweaters and ties are hanging on the overhead ceiling fans. We’re laughing and having a ball because we’re not waiting for a narcissistic personality to make a grand entrance. We, the Waiting People, have taken our lives back. Don’t like it? We don’t care. Turn up the music!