Waiting for Gouda

The average person will spend 2 weeks over a lifetime waiting for the traffic light to change. That’s an entire vacation spent hanging out at an intersection, fingers drumming on the side of the steering wheel.

I suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising. The other day I spent 25 minutes waiting at the deli counter. Now I don’t know about other people, but for me, that was a record. I knew I was in for a wait, when after spotting the larger than usual crowd and checking my number (52), I noticed the current number was 30. I figured, though, at most there were ten “real” customers ahead of me. Many people don’t stick around. They get impatient and walk away, wringing their hands in frustration, stuffing their little crumpled pink slips into their pockets or tossing them onto the floor.

The key to waiting without becoming fraught with frustration is to wait wisely, planning the weekend, reminiscing, jotting a mental ‘to do’ list. On this day, I smartly decided that rather than stand around helplessly waiting for my number, I’d pick up my other grocery items. It would keep me occupied, lessen my anxiety. Besides, it would be good exercise.

I headed over to the fish counter (no wait) and promptly received my order for 2 lbs of haddock. I rushed down to the dairy section and grabbed a gallon of milk, a carton of eggs and several yogurts. I managed to balance a loaf of wheat bread on top before racing back to the deli counter. I anxiously glanced at the current customer number: 34.

Figuring I had time to make another trip up and down the aisles, I set out in search of Gatorade, Special K, granola bars (on sale that week), raisins. I walked briskly back to the deli counter again searching for the number. It had inched up to 39. Next I headed to the pasta aisle. I grabbed several boxes of angel hair (2 for .99) and pulled a new kind of sauce from the shelf (risky, but at $1.69 a jar, I had to take a chance). I glanced at my watch and then hustled back to the deli counter for another number check—42.

At this point, I was beside myself. It had been at least 15 minutes, and I was still 10 customers away. It was hard to believe, but everyone ahead of me—all twenty-two of them—had waited. “Don’t these people have anything better to do than wait in this ridiculous line?” I said to myself, realizing the equally ridiculous nature of my question given my continued waiting status. I thought about giving up, but having already invested so much time, I decided to stick it out, pulling some nearby produce out of the bins so I wouldn’t be caught off guard. The last thing I wanted at this point was to miss hearing my number being called.

When I finally heard 52, I was overcome with relief, the exhilaration almost unbearable. Though my original deli list had been a modest one, I quickly rattled off several additional items—a half pound of American cheese (sliced thin), a pound of Willow Tree chicken salad, cole slaw, four-bean salad. “While you’re at it, throw in a quarter pound of provolone,” I heard myself say to the deli guy. There was no way I was going to walk away after almost a half hour’s wait with merely a pound of turkey breast.

This incident got me wondering how my time at the deli counter compared to the traffic light statistic. Even a more reasonable waiting time of 10 minutes twice a week translates into about 4 weeks of my life—that’s two vacations—waiting for turkey and cheese. The idea of all this waiting time, productive though it was, was overwhelmingly depressing. It made me desperate to get away from it all—on that much-needed two week vacation.

(This column was published in a slightly different form on townonline.com July, 2005)