Waiting Room Purgatory

Why is Waiting So Painful?

I read recently that “The things in life that are urgent are rarely important, and the things in life that are important are rarely urgent.” I should have this tattooed on my forehead. In my world, everything is urgent. Let's just say, patience isn't my strongest virtue...
 
Last week, I spent way too many hours in waiting rooms. It’s my least favorite thing about living in Latin America; you can usually count on hours of wait time, especially if you’re doing anything medical. I suppose it’s because there’s a shortage of doctors in many Latin American countries. In the last decade, Puerto Rico has lost half of its physicians. 
           
Being stuck in waiting room purgatory last week, I cursed myself for not having brought my computer to get work done or at least a book. Eventually, though, I figured out a system. No matter how many hours I had to wait, I was going to be prepared with a book, magazine, phone charger, snacks, and water. I wasn’t going to waste a single moment doing—God forbid—nothing. 
 
I remember my first time traveling in Latin America as a twenty-year-old. I spent a summer in Ecuador and quickly became acquainted with the culture of long lines and endless hours spent… waiting. People would start queuing outside the bank hours before it opened, everyone silent and resolute about their fate: this was going to take a while. When I became sick with a strange stomach virus, I had to get up before dawn to wait in a line for a doctor who wouldn’t show up until midday. The same thing happened at bus stations, where buses seemed to be running on different schedules than those that were posted.
 
During my first endless waiting experiences, I was beside myself with frustration. My physical, mental and spiritual bodies were unable to process what was happening: the motionless hours, the ticking clock, the lack of movement and resolution. I sighed loudly, I tapped my foot, I checked my watch, I craned my neck. Basically, I behaved like your typical impatient American.
 
But as I looked around, expecting everyone else to be as exasperated as I was, I realized I was alone in my exasperation. My fellow people-in-waiting displayed none of my obnoxious behavior. To them, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the experience. To them, waiting was a regular part of life, something to be accepted. Everyone around me was Zen, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Over time, though, I stopped fighting the inevitable. I became accustomed to waiting and learned to accept it like everyone else.
 
Since then, though, I’ve obviously forgotten this lesson.
 
I think the reason why waiting is so difficult for many Americans is because we’re obsessed with productivity. Every minute of every hour of every day must yield productivity. It’s no wonder we have this mindset; we exist in a capitalist framework that functions on the law of constant growth. Time = money, therefore lost time = lost money.
 
I’m trying to change my perspective about time spent in salas de espera: waiting time. Why must I see it as lost time? Why can’t it simply just be time, pure and simple?
 
One of my favorite things about Puerto Rican waiting rooms, though, is the way that people always greet the room full of strangers when they walk in, and se despiden when they leave. Some people on their way out offer hope to those remaining that they will be seen quickly. In a room full of people whose eyes are glued to their devices, I love these moments of humanity where everyone looks up from their screens to wish a stranger a nice day. If only for a moment, there’s a connection, an acknowledgement of our hearts and minds and all that makes us human.

Tip of the Week

Get a watch! A few years ago, I realized that one of the main reasons I was reaching for my phone was to check the time. An easy fix! 

Digital Life Around the Web

Cell phone usage during medical appointments might be the culprit for long wait times.

French students under the age of 15 are not allowed to use cell phones, tablets, or smartwatches during school hours -- including mealtimes! My father always called the French "so civilized" (he was French) but in this case I must agree. 

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