Waiting

you can see the waiters everywhere. the boyfriends and husbands who stand, waiting for their girlfriends and wives, holding a bag or hands in pockets, a vacant look on their faces. in a shopping mall, or at the grocery store, or at a restaurant. they hone their skill over time, so that you can tell an experienced waiter by the serene, far away look in his eyes; the younger ones are impatient and playing angry birds. nowadays waiting might be a disappearing art, as the modern solution to boredom is to check facebook.

but there is something to be gained by waiting, something you can learn about yourself, and about your fellow men. there is an instant comraderie when you are waiting and you see another man who is also waiting. you will give a slight half smile and nod that means something like “waiting, huh? me too.” if the exchange is outside a dressing room then the eyebrow raised in return means “women, huh?” anywhere else it means “get a load of this line” or “what’s the deal with the service here?” or “who does that guy think he is?” or “women, huh?”

my father knows an italian man who every sunday stands on the same paving stone outside the local church, waiting for his wife. he has waited every sunday for years, and his father before him. waiting with him is his son. and next to them is a man with the same story. and the same next to him.

european man gets so good at waiting that by the time he is old and wears a hat he has turned it into his pasttime. in the late afternoon you can find him waiting in a park, on the street, in a cafe. by the time they reach that age, the waiters have made it into a team sport, and they wait with their comrades in social clubs or political parties, or some sort of de facto neighborhood watch. while visiting in sicily, a friend of mine said she thought the men were waiting until the hour when their wives would let them come back home.

here in the us the old men wait in mcdonald’s in the mornings, maybe because as a nation we are restless, eager, ready to start. instead of waiting while everyone else is winding down, they wait while everyone gets started. the old men who wait have it figured out, i think. the ones who wait and watch and take it easy, enjoying themselves while the rest of us scurry about, worrying.

that old saw about death and taxes should be expanded to include waiting. it’s probably even the most important guarantee, in fact. if you get to the point where what you’re waiting on is one of the former, you’ll want to be sure that you’re good at the latter.

this morning in front of the freewheel bike shop on valencia st a roundish, middle aged woman, who probably owns at least two items of clothing with ed hardy drawings on it, says at me “hey, which way is ritual coffee?”  up this way, i say, pointing and pulling my dog out of my way so we can walk away as quickly as possible.

At the corner of Guerrero and 18th: two girls, probably in college, ask me where Bi-Rite ice creamery is. Just up ahead I say, one more block. I point towards the park and keep walking past.

Two days ago, at the corner of Dolores and 16th, a couple were standing, looking confused. The guy was talking on his cell phone, and the girl approached me and the dog as we waited for the light. “Excuse me, do you know which way is Dolores park?” She was clearly French. I pointed down Dolores street. “That way, two blocks. Eighteenth street.” Not sure how much English she spoke, I tried to think of the French word for 18. Deez-wheat was what I could come up with, but fortunately for amer-franco understanding, she said thank you and the two of them quickly walked away.
Sometimes I wish I could speak a foreign language.