Waiting Games

I don't remember where I read it or what details were included, but I read something to the effect of the fact that we spend a ridiculous amount of time waiting.  We wait at the grocery store, at school, to get gas, and like me the other day; to pick up prescriptions.  To cut my waiting down as much as possible, I called in my refill.  I explained to the automated attendant that I would (press 1) pick up my goods at 5pm that day.  I arrive at my neighborhood drug store around 4:30.  Sure I am early, but how hard is it to count out 30 pills and slap on a sticker?  I admit to the girl at the counter I am early and it may not be ready. She agrees but says she will get right on it.  I sit.  I wait.  More people arrive looking for the cure to their ills.  That gets me thinking; what are their ills?  I rethink coming inside to get chocolate with my refill and think I should have gone through the drive through.  I find my self caught in what I like to call The Waiting Game.

You know you have done it.    I find myself thoroughly enjoying the game at the airport.  The woman in the business suit walks by; where is she going, and what does she do for a living?  The mother in sweats walks by with her three small children.  Why are earth would she fly the red-eye?  You see a man and woman in the airport bar; did they just meet.  Hubs and I like to make up little scenarios about other travelers to pass the time.  Much like they are doing about us I am sure.

So there I am, in the little chair next to the free heart rate monitor when I find myself thinking about my suddenly all too close room mates.  What happened to that woman's leg and why is she here by herself when she obviously needs assistance getting around, let alone driving.  Why is the woman next to me shaking so badly?  She is awfully thin and it seems she already has plenty of prescription bottles in her purse at her disposal.  Why does that guy want to get out of here so quickly that he leaves his receipt and change over two dollars?  My mind is racing.  I of course think I must look extremely normal compared to the crazies with whom I am trapped.

The pharmacy tech calls my name!  I am free!  I calmly rush to the counter before anyone can start wondering about me and what a perfectly normal, healthy looking young woman would need at the pharmacy.

Crap.  I forgot my wallet.  They all now have 15 minutes to conjure up a story about me before I come back to see a whole new group of faces that will set my mind into another spiral.

Figured out what the prescription was for?