Man in Waiting

Waiting.

It’s a game for one player. OK, many people can play, but it’s more of an individual task. Group waiting is like a baseball game without the…well, it’s like a baseball game. Waiting is a hands-off sport. It’s not competitive, although competitive people participate. It’s one person, a clock, a gaze, and a pot: refusing to boil.

I have no patience. Waiting? It’s not my strong suit. OK let’s face it. Waiting, it’s not even a card in my hand. If I’m playing waiting bridge, I’m passing the bid to my partner every time. Let them wait on me.

Even as a kid. I couldn’t wait. Whether it was waiting for Billy Fritz to take his Sorry-turn, or Mom baking the chocolate chips, I couldn’t handle it. In either case, somebody ended up with a mouthful of something.

“Robby, where are the blue Sorry pieces?”

“Billy ate them.”

“Why did Billy eat them?”

“Cuz a sock puppet forced them down his throat?”

Sock puppets? I can do sock puppets. They don’t wait. You know why? Cuz nobody wants food served by a sweaty gold toes, no matter how cute it looks. See? Waiting humor isn’t even good. It stinks

So what’s Rob waiting on?

Wait for it…

Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t help it.

No really, now, here it goes.

I’m waiting for life.

Yup. The life train left Chicago at 3:15pm carrying 700 cars of 10,000 happy people moving on with life. If the train is traveling at 115 mph, how long until it derails, leaving Rob stranded, and pee-pee dance in Union Station? Oh yeah, the crinkled cars of burning people? We’re not talking about them.

We’re talking about me.

…

And waiting.

I’m waiting on an employer to tell me whether I’m employed. I went in for a second interview two weeks ago. This week, I still haven’t heard anything. If I get the job, there’s a mortgage company waiting on me to pay my bills. They aren’t good at waiting either. Their nasty-grams are paper kindling for the train of life.

Some cats can handle waiting better than humans so long as it doesn't involve food.

Did you know that the average American spends 15,000 hours waiting? Do you know that I just made that up? Why? Cuz I didn’t want to wait for survey results. I’m way too busy—waiting.

I’m waiting for responses from book agents—even bad responses, so that then I’ll know how they feel about my ugly baby. I did get one ugly baby rejection this week. It’s not the response I was hoping for, but it is one less waiting.

I rarely make people wait in my own world. I hate to leave people hanging. Ask the agents who hate my work. I don’t even leave a participle dangling. OK, that’s a lie, but those participles, they deserve it. They’re just rude.

I’m waiting for the Pirate Queen. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for there, but I’m sure it’s sexy, lacy and a little risqué…

There’s no need for you to wait with me for that. I won’t share.

So where does all this waiting leave me?

Thinking.

Yeah, what’s worse than waiting? That’s right: thinking. What’s the number one cause of regime change in this world? Men who think. Unlike waiting, people can think in groups. That’s called “group-think.” Group think is less dangerous than individual think. It’s like thought bubble wrap. Nobody can get too hurt from group-think, unless they’re following an individual thinker. Then we’re all lost in thought.

That’s why I never think alone.

I think in the shower.

Loofa Kermit and Scrubby Doo help me to make sense of my world. Today we thought about waiting.

As a man of faith, I’m a firm believer in “God’s time.” Unfortunately he hasn’t read my schedule, and he keeps me waiting while Life’s thought train burns 700 cars of 10,000 happy people. Well, they aren’t too happy: their burning. Either way—Thanks God.

These were my thoughts while scrubbing Doo over my fuzzy butt. That’s when Kermit called from the shower caddy.

“Hi, ho, Rob. Even the great men and women of God wait. Look at David. He waited for Saul to have a workplace accident.”

“Trooby-dooby-doo!”

“Yeah, Ok…”

And look at Abraham. He waited for God’s promise.”

Scrubby Doo tried to agree again, but I was holding him under water.

“And Daniel—“

“You’re right Kermit, but there’s one flaw in your logic?”

“Oh? Do tell, Rob!”

“These were all great men of God, right?”

“Why Yes!”

“I’m not great.”

Kermit looked at the wall, then back at the shower head, “Uhm, need me to scrub your back?”

Still, my shower mates made their point. It’s ok. I’m fine being an okey-dokey man of God. I just don’t want to be an okey-dokey man who waits. And waiting is what I’m doing now. I’m take comfort in shower epiphanies and the knowledge that when the waiting is done, I can be an okey-dokey man of action. Behind every man of action is a man who waited, and not in a “Can I scrub your back” fashion.

I’m tired of waiting. I want to do.

All I need is a word.

Any word

but “wait.”