An exercise in patience

Um, yeah. Patience. It's a thing that I lack. I've never had it. I was that kid in second grade when we had to read out loud that was like "CHILD, PLEASE! COME ON!" when another kid was trying to sound out a three-syllable word.

I got it from my dad. He had no patience for your bullshit, nope, none at all. And since I loved my dad and was a total Daddy's Girl and wanted to be like him, I emulated that behavior. Hence, my lack of patience. (He's gotten the patience in droves as he's gotten older and become a grandfather, so I figure in about 30 years I'll chill out, too.)

But yes, no current patience. I want to kill the people in my parking garage when I come home, because how freaking hard is it to just go to the next aisle and park there instead of waiting five minutes blocking EVERYONE ELSE while you wait for someone to unload their groceries and return their cart and then come back to their car and YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HALFWAY DONE WITH YOUR SHOPPING BY NOW. I threaten the cat that I'll drop him over the balcony or give him to the Asians down the hall when he won't stop meowing after ten constant minutes of meowing all the time with the meowing after I walk in the door. Or when people call me at work and take five minutes to find their account number to give to me--shouldn't you have looked for that before you called, dumbass? Or waiting for that damn second line on the pregnancy test. WHERE ARE YOU, SECOND LINE?

So I wanted to say that I am tremendously proud of myself, because last night when Edgar and I went to the grocery store and had to wait THIRTY FIVE WHOLE MINUTES to check out, I did not freak out once. I had to steel myself for it in the parking lot, because it took about five minutes to find a parking space. I knew we were in for a bad night. Then there were no carts and we had to scour the parking lot in the cold (yes, it gets cold in Southern California in December) to find one. So we get inside and we walk down the first aisle and when we come around to the next aisle the lines from the cash registers had already snaked back and were reaching towards the back of the store.

Oh, no.

I do not handle long grocery lines well. I don't like seeing people with carts heaped to the top standing in line in front of me. I detest cashiers that can't do their jobs. I AM IMPATIENT.

But you know what else I also hate? I hate when Edgar and I are standing in long lines in the grocery store and I say something snarky and he just sighs and says "There's nothing you can do about it, babe" in that voice that says "How many times have I freakin' heard you compain about this and how many times did you not survive?" Because then I feel bad for being all petty and impatient.

So last night, I kept my cool. I even refrained from yelling at this morbidly obese 13 year old behind me that NEVER SHUT UP and who's every other word was "like" and who, along with her younger sister, had no sense of personal space and kept getting all up in my biz-nass.

I should get a medal.