Waiting

When I was a kid I hated participating in after school activities. No sports, no camp, no music lessons, no anything! But I enjoyed playing tennis, I liked camp, I was (still am) a good piano player.

So why did I hate doing all of this?

Because my father never picked me up on time.

A poor excuse to be a quitter or a talent-waster, but a valid one.

It didn't matter that he knew exactly when to come get me. The man operated as if the watch on his wrist was broken. 30 mins to an hour is often how long I had to wait. It was embarrassing when the kid whose lesson was after me got picked up before I did. Even worse is when it was our turn to carpool and my friend had to wait too.

It's no wonder I hate waiting and I will do whatever I can to avoid it.

The other day when RedSox tells me he'll come pick me up so I can study at his office while he works, I thought Great! This will be a good way to get stuff done and spend time together.

I figured he would get me within 20 minutes. Almost 1 hour later I still hadn't heard from him, so I get back online and shoot him a message. He got sidetracked with something and he's hopping in the shower right away.

This isn't the first time he has had me waiting. I tell him that he asked me to come study at 2pm. It is now 3pm. If he is not going to get to my school by 4pm, just don't bother.

At 3:50pm he calls to tell me he is nearby. Somehow it took another 20 minutes before I got in his car at 4:08pm.

To me waiting is torture because there is no purpose behind the time wasted. I have no idea what is going on. I also hate calling because I don't want to be a nag, so I "tastefully" space my phone inquiries.

I tell this to RedSox. I tell him how my dad did this to me. I tell him I am not interested in going through it ever again.