Recently I posted the following tweet on Twitter
If someone who drinks a lot is a drinker,and someone who writes a lot is a writer,why isn’t someone who waits a lot called a waiter? #help
— Scott Andrews (@Scottpoland) February 6, 2013
The reason I wrote such a thought was not because of a linguistic question. It was because right now I am waiting on a number of things. My waiting list is longer than an Orangutan’s arms. I hope the waiting ends soon so I can shout from the rooftops. Instead I am just bubbling with frustration.
This waiting experience, made me think about waiting in general. As I turned on my computer and waited for it to load, and then waited for chrome to open, and then waited for the webpage to load and then waited for the words to form in my brain and waited for my fingers to get to work I realised that waiting is unavoidable. We wait for thousands of different things each and every day. Whether it be traffic lights, phone calls, food to cook, dogs to crap, snow to melt, to get paid and to get laid. It is impossible to go twenty-four hours without having to wait for anything.
The veracity of this truth is unyielding. And yet when people show the tiniest hint of impatience, rather than sympathize, we throw meaningless expressions at them. We push this fantasy that a man of action can do anything he wants. Carpe diem unless someone is walking on the pedestrian crossing, or they have to pick up the kids from school, or if it’s the day before payday. Time and tide wait for no man, but man waits for just about everything else.
The cold truth of the matter is that destiny is not in our hands. Destiny is the result of many other factors. I challenge each and every one of you to time how long you spend waiting for things for a whole day. Or even count the number of times you will find yourself waiting for something. You will be unpleasantly surprised. Next time someone says to you that patience is the virtue of a saint, punch them in the face. Or if you are not of violent disposition lean close to them and whisper ‘Merda taurorum animas conturbit’.