Patience Pending

Patience is one of the hardest things to grasp as human beings. We live in a world where adults cut ahead of one another in line at restaurants, and in which most people abuse the horns on their cars. I sometimes wonder why we're all in such a hurry. Is it the nature of New York? Do people rush through life because it goes so fast, or does life go fast because people are rushing? I've always associated patience with maturity. A child, with no concept of time, wants what he or she wants now. By the time we reach adulthood, we should know that when we have to wait, there's nothing that can be changed by getting upset.

I've struggled with patience and maturity on more than one occasion. Sometimes, where work is concerned, I don't have the luxury of waiting. I hate to nag people and it's a last resort in order to maintain good relationships, but sometimes it has to be done. Patience is good for mental health and reduced stress, but sometimes stress can increase as a result of it. On my way to work Thursday morning, already running a little late, I waved someone on that was pulling out of the parking lot of a diner. I've found that traffic moves smoother when people don't bunch up and allow merges, keeping everything flowing. Indeed, within a matter of seconds after the light turned green I was moving forward again, but as a result of the car in front of me slowing to a stop, I caught the same red light twice. Had I not shown kindness, I might have made it through and not lost another three minutes. We can't change what's already happened, and while frustration bubbled I did my best to quell it.

Ordering lunch at Subway tested my strained patience once more. When someone has an accent, I do my best to listen and answer only when I'm certain I've processed what I've just heard. I don't like to be that guy saying “What?” or “I'm sorry?”, making people repeat themselves two or three times, because that tests both of our limits. I'm generally good with accents, but amid the din of the food court yesterday I was at a loss to understand the vendor. The fact that I made the poor guy repeat himself probably annoyed him more than me, but the real pet peeve involved something I've encountered at many sandwich places, with all kinds of people. It doesn't seem to matter who's behind the counter; they always ask what I consider to be stupid questions. If I order something with a specific dressing in the name of it, they ask me “What kind of dressing?” When I order a “Chicken and Bacon Ranch”, I always have to tell them that the dressing I'd like is Ranch. Similarly today, I tried a new Bourbon Chicken and when he asked me what kind of dressing I wanted on it, a second time after I didn't understand him the first time, I told him the Bourbon glaze and shifted my gaze to the sign. I guess people get tired working behind the counter all day, listening to orders over and over. I'm not unsympathetic. But in that moment, when I've asked for something and get that kind of question, my brain reels at the stupidity of it. I guess it's not on par with being asked what kind of meat I'd like on my chicken sandwich, but it's a close second. And given the time back in college that I ordered a chicken with broccoli, and asked the waiter to hold the broccoli, I imagine people in the food service industry have just as much frustration with stupid customers. Maybe that's why they always ask about the dressing in Subway. I won't throw stones, but I definitely find myself clutching them.

The kids playing in our street are multiplying. I've defended them to some degree as my dad grows more frustrated, pointing out that my friends and I used to ride bikes on the sidewalk and in the driveway, and play ball in the street. Of course there were about five or six of us, and four of us lived on the block. At my last estimate, there's a horde of twenty or thirty kids riding bikes, throwing rocks, and screaming. They also tend to not move out of the way when they see a car, and even glare at the driver. One day last week they all moved out of the way by going into my driveway. As I slowly turned I made a parting motion with one hand, keeping my cool as to maintain a good relationship with the parents of the two or three kids that actually are our neighbors. My dad's never been a patient man, and cares less as he gets older. Earlier this week he coated the driveway with a water sealer, and set up a barricade of branches and wood across tar buckets to keep people off it until it dried. I later heard from my mom of one child who decided to sit on one of the tar buckets, resulting in my dad running out shouting, “Hey, you lousy kids get off of there--!” When I was a kid, we didn't like the old man that yelled at us for playing on his lawn, but we feared and respected him. All it took was one outburst and I was forever afraid to trespass. The new generation is spiteful, and takes it as a challenge. Wednesday they continued idly rolling around in the street as I tried to get through, and when I threw up my arms in a “What the heck?” gesture, many of them made chattering sounds as if mocking me. Thursday when I came home, they were playing baseball, with real bases. We used to use manhole covers, cracks in the sidewalk, or trees. “OK, the manhole cover is second base!” These kids had ACTUAL bases and I nearly rolled over second to avoid hitting the bikes that were parked in front of my driveway. Under my breath, I found myself muttering, “Lousy kids...” So much for patience and understanding.

I guess I'm impatient because my dad is impatient. When he asks me to look something up on the computer, “when I get a chance”, he repeats the inquiry far too often. Once he asked me at night, then the next morning, then when I got home from work. By the third time I snapped and asked when he thought I'd had time. This weekend I've possibly made the mistake of turning down a gig in the city on Sunday to attend a christening for the firstborn of one of my college friends, and see people I see once a year, if I'm lucky. The band leader got someone to cover for me, but my dad is still going. After nagging me repeatedly about the subway, I sat down with him last weekend and walked him through the map, even writing it down. I'll have time to drop him and another musician off at a subway stop in Brooklyn that will get him to the city in just two stops, and to the church location in just a few more stops after a transfer. To me, it's easy. We've gone that route every year for a number of years, and the trumpet player he'll be with has done it even longer. I lost patience and snapped at him the other day when he asked me when I'd have the final plans for him, and referred to the fact that I'd not only shown him on screen, but I'd written it down. I'm really starting to worry about him getting lost, even though he'll be with another player and they're both now actually meeting the band leader at the station, who definitely knows the trains since he grew up there and in fifty some odd years has never driven a car. I suspect part of the reason my dad keeps asking the same questions is because he's worried, and while I now feel kind of guilty about blowing off the job to hang out with my friends, it's too late now. I have to get my patience back though and keep my emotions in check. We have another job in Queens on Saturday night, and I got annoyed when he interrupted a movie I was watching to make me call the band leader to finalize when we were picking him up. “I'm just the chauffeur; you tell me the time,” I snapped before calling the guy for him. He had already been understanding a few weeks ago when I told him I wanted to see my friends and their new baby, and the band leader had actually taken the news worse before thinking of someone who could cover for me. Why am I so terse and sarcastic when asked to make a simple phone call, or repeat directions for the train?

Patience is taking that extra ten seconds to think about our response to questions we find irritating or stupid. It's recognizing when the things that seem simple to us may not be to others. It's the deep breath that's not always our first instinct, and the difference between peace and conflict. In the grand scheme of things, looking back at my life, I've really improved. But every once in a while I still have a day like yesterday where everything builds, and control goes out the window. Someday I'll get the hang of it but for now, my patience is pending.