I Can't Wait

My friend M hates to be scolded. Of course, most people do. However, I can tolerate scolding--and just about anything else--except waiting. I often feel as though years have been taken off my life sitting patiently, waiting, waiting, waiting. I am not one of those people who arrives for ten hours of jury duty empty-handed either. I am armed with a book and an MP3 player at all times, but even so, after more than an hour, murderous thoughts towards the receptionist or airline attendant begin to cloud my concentration.

Contrary to the conventional wisdom that one gets more patient with age, I am beginning to feel like the waiting time has become cumulative. I can't take it anymore.

The past few weeks have been especially grueling. This morning, in the MINI dealership, I worked my way through the Sunday New York Times, a few chapters of a novel, and several potential performance songs on my MP3 player, but I was still there after two and a half hours, gazing wistfully at my car on the hydraulic lift. There are only so many times one can peruse the overpriced MINI and BMW merchandise, or admire the new cars in the showroom before going completely bananas.

Since I got the idea to resume my less-than-distinguished theatrical career, I have begun to suspect that I don't have the sitzfleisch for it. My recollections of auditions past are of being summoned into the auditorium to sing, then read, then being sent home to wait for a callback. First come, first served, so that if you arrived for the audition ten minutes before the official start time, you could be on your merry way in half an hour. That is not how it's done here. I have recently been to three auditions: First everyone sang, one at a time. After two hours of sitting in the lobby during the singing, we were all herded to meet with the choreographer to learn a few dance steps, then each person performed again for the director. Simply put, everyone who showed up to audition was held hostage for the entire four hours. Before I ever got in front of the director, I could feel the energy draining out of me and the vocal warm-up I'd had with my voice coach ebb away.

This weekend, due to a printing typo on the invitation, I arrived an hour and a half before an event. Ever the good sport, I decided to wait. But after an hour, I couldn't take it anymore and went home. The anticipation and pleasure of attending the event had dissipated after forty minutes wait.

So, as Bill Maher says, NEW RULES. After the below-listed time is up, I will either go home or go postal.

• Waiting in a restaurant for a friend--12 minutes past appointed time
• Concert or play-- commences within 10 minutes of announced curtain time
• Doctor's waiting room--35 minutes
• Movie--trailers must begin at exact publicized start time, actual feature film within 25 minutes
• Wedding--bride must sail down the aisle within 40 minutes of invitation time
• Flight-- two hours delay acceptable; going home not an option, see above

Once about fifteen years ago (before the cell phone era), a group of friends rolled up in front of the restaurant almost two hours after our appointed meeting time. I was sitting on the curb in front of the restaurant, seething. "Do not disrespect me in this way, ever again!" I fumed. And, in fact, they haven't.