Dimes continued to hit the counter. 44. 45. 46. I felt the annoyance build up in my chest as I watched the woman continue to dig into her coin purse. The CVS clerk kept cracking jokes with her, causing her to stop her dime-digging to allow herself to laugh a long, shrill laugh. I couldn’t tell if the mother and daughter waiting in front of me was as annoyed as I was. Actually, I’m sure they weren’t. They occupied themselves by looking at the nutrition facts the bags of chips they held close. 47. 48. 49. I tried to talk myself out of doing anything passive-aggressive. Don’t throw your shampoo and conditioner on the belt. Don’t sigh loudly. Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t exaggerate any foot tapping.
“Well, gee I’ve never had someone pay me 50 dollars in dimes,” the CVS clerk chuckled.
My blood was curdling. Where in this godforsaken suburban CVS could I find the virtue of patience? I knew that the answer to that question was none other than “from within,” but I really started to wonder. Where do people find patience?
I know I lost my patience the moment I had to wait my turn for the highly coveted “spinny ride” every lunch period in Kindergarten. It was a downward spiral from there. I hated lines, slow readers, slow walkers, slow talkers, slow typers - really anything that didn’t function faster than I did. I should correct the false tense. I still hate all of those things.
Moving away from home was a temporary remedy for this allergy to slow people and slow things. On the streets of Manhattan, I found myself speed walking alongside 9-5 workers. I rolled my eyes with fellow impatient people as we watched a man swipe his subway card over and over again. It took him five tries to realize his card was empty. To the crowd behind him, me included, it was a cardinal sin. Him wasting 12 seconds of our time felt like he had stabbed us once for each dead second.
As I found myself surrounded by other impatient people, I felt better about myself. New Yorkers have a reputation of being crabby, impatient, and unforgiving. I gave myself the excuse to roll my eyes more, tap my foot louder, and edge past people on the subway platform.
However, out of my impatient community 3,000 miles away, I was withering at this CVS in my sleepy hometown in California. The dime-counter finally finished paying and the mom-and-daughter duo stepped up to pay for their chips. I exhaled and placed my items on the belt.
Taking my receipt, I walked outside and saw the dime-digger. She gave me a smile and I quickly returned it before I could pick a ruder reaction. As I sat in my car, I realized that I was in no rush. It was 3 p.m. on a Sunday and I had nothing urgent to do. I could’ve daydreamed in that CVS line or read the greeting cards on the rack beside me. I could’ve laughed at the funny ridiculousness of the situation instead of thinking of ways to outwardly express my contempt.
I started my car and waited for a car behind me to finish backing up. This time, I took a deep breath and hummed along to the song on the radio. Patience isn’t a virtue I was born with, but maybe it can still be learned.
