One becomes a certain kind of acquaintance with those folks whom you spend time with during a long wait. It might be a similar camaraderie as co-prisoners, I imagine.
Comrades, we were all waiting in that space, for a similar but not identical reason. There was the youngish woman with her fidgeting little boy, the smiling man who asked politely if the seat next to me was taken, the couple, of a similar age to my spouse and myself with the self-described impatient husband, and finally, the middle-aged couple waiting for a pair of relatives of their own.
We might have all been blood relatives who rarely see each other but made the effort this time. It wasn’t vital that we converse, so the infrequent silence wasn’t awkward. It was just what they call a pregnant pause.
There was a sense of anticipation in the air. Any of us might be called back to the next step in the journey for which we had all gathered in the first place, then someone or another would ask an inquisitive but not too personal question from our fellows as the wait continued.
We watched the little boy’s fidgeting become almost acrobatic in nature as he consumed vending machine food-like stuff including body-contorting sugar, salt, caffeine and dye. He stayed blessedly sweet, but his young body had flip-flopped back and forth from a seated to a prone position, several times. I think we adults marveled at the joys of caffeine and sugar fuel.
The boy and his mom came and went from our shared space a few times. Soon it was my turn to get up and move.
I thought it remarkable that the man whom his wife described as “really impatient,” seemed at ease with the wait, especially in comparison to that buzzing little boy but also compared to me. I don’t have anything as syndrome-like as restless legs, but I do have a habit of staying on the move as much as possible.
Because he knows me, my husband knew that it would happen sooner or later, that given a longer wait, I would have to get up and go somewhere. In fact, he suggested that I go outdoors since it was a nice day.
I stayed put for a few minutes then gave into my need for a bit of a stroll. I chose to start by heading down a long winding corridor in the building, after all I might be summoned at any moment.
After having done that uncomplicated route a few times without a peep from the powers that be to call me to attention, I began to feel awkward being seen by others, pacing about while they remained happily seated in their waiting chairs. So, I headed just outside, not so far flung as to be easily called back, but at least walking along a more appropriately seen path for a casual jaunt, I guess.
Back inside, the wait started to become obviously protracted. Supporting players popped in and out of our now proprietary space where we belonged. The middle-aged couple were joined by an acquaintance of their own who, in checking on them, revealed the reason for their attendance in our little flock of waiters.
Nearby staff held casual conversations of their own which we couldn’t help but be privy to. My seatmate noted to me that their conversation came around to food having heard me comment that I was increasingly hungry, as the lunch hour had come and gone quite a while ago.
Our pregnant pause had taken on the nearly desperate anticipation of a misty distant craving for anything edible. I started to covet that child’s non-food junk.
Our little crowd began to take unspoken wagers on who might be called back next. The middle-aged couple disappeared for a bit. The impatient man got up and moved about some. We all took turns doing the tap, tap, tap, foot dance unaccompanied by music.
Soon the middle-aged couple resumed their saved position across the small space from me. The impatient man sat back down, only to be called back with an “I won” exclamation of playful relief, to have escaped the confines of our prison of waiting.
Not long thereafter, I threw my arms up in the touchdown symbol of victory, replete with a little happy dance. I thanked the room for waiting with me and off we went toward the next step of the day’s journey.
This step included some more waiting but this time it was a more solo endeavor. For some reason I didn’t mind waiting alone. It was somehow peaceful and relaxing.
As I said earlier, I’m usually on the move, with my fitness tracker often registering seven or eight hours of movement out of nine. But for this two or three hour wait, and albeit being forced to, I was able to slow down to a complete stop for blessed rest and repose.
When I was a little one, not unlike that fidgeting child in the waiting space, we sang a song with the chorus, “whistle while you work.” I always think of it for some reason when I’m confined in a waiting situation.
I think that song taught us to make the best of our time, no matter what we’re doing. Just like those coworkers chatted randomly about food and we waiters found something in common to speak to each other about, we passed the potentially anxious time, in jovial camaraderie.
We all won in the end. We helped each other in the most organic way that one human can help another. We waited together.