Why is everyone so leisurely? It is probable that the problem is mine; that I am the unreasonable one in the great equation of life, and yet I feel the need to ask again: why is everyone so leisurely?
I am waiting to pay. Why does the lady in front of me not have her purse out – indeed, her card out – by the time all the stuff has been rung up? Fiddling, digging, taking her time. In fact, taking MY time.
Cab drivers or any drivers. Why are you in this lane? The other lanes are zooming along. I can literally feel the wind whistling past my ears as the cars on either side gaily zip past. Can you not see? Do you not care?
Folks in the street… meandering three abreast, full of the joys of the flaneur. Move along, move aside, move anywhere, but please move. Who wanders? Why don’t you storm like a normal incredibly stressed person? My pulse moves into my ears, my heart into my throat. My head throbs. My hands sweat. And I’m not even late.
It’s habit forming, this resentment of people’s personal pacing. It’s a decision, really, but one that is hard to reverse. Noticing the rhythms that surround me is an integral part of my personality. Haste and impatience are hardwired into who I am. No, it’s not relaxing – but getting things over with comes with its own bitter satisfaction. Joyless? Maybe. Efficient? Absolutely. I don’t understand leisurely people. Although I suspect they are having a much nicer time than I am. Now do get a move on.