Macrophobia - Fear of long waits

Panophobia, Pantophobia - Fear of everything

Phenomophobia, Phronemophobia – Fear of thinking

EwwwGrossAutoPhobia – Fear of finding something disgusting

under the seat in your car

InspectPhobia – Fear of failing inspection

HowMuchLongerPhobia – Fear of waiting in a long line and never

getting out of it

Phobophobia - Fear of being afraid

I am waiting to get my car inspected. I am in a long line that seems to go on forever and hardly moves at all. For some reason, it looks like the other lanes are moving along just fine; mine is not. I see cars that were behind me in the other lanes moving past me and back out into the real world of traffic and fender benders. I imagine those drivers waving to me and saying, "Ha ha! Wrong line, lady!"

 

I strain my head out my window to see what is holding us up. I can't see anything, but the knot in my stomach tells me that someone at the head of the line has forgotten something like a license or registration card, has a flat tire, or is telling the brake inspector about her recent gall bladder surgery at the Mayo Clinic.

 

It occurs to me that I must waste half of my life waiting for other people to do things or just to get out of my way.

 

I decide to make the best use of my time.

 

I start by cleaning out my pocketbook.

 

Then I make a grocery list.

 

I file what is left of my fingernails.

 

I clean out the glove compartment and update my car maintenance records.

 

I rearrange the money in my wallet so all the bills are facing the same direction in order of value.

 

I make sure all my credit cards are signed and current.

 

I look under the seats and find my son’s old retainer, a quarter, my husband’s sunglasses, two pennies, a dime, a shriveled French fry, several pieces of Lego, a Matchbox car, and a pretzel. I eat the pretzel, throw the French fry out the window, pocket the change, and put my son’s retainer, the Lego, the Matchbox car, and my husband’s sunglasses in my pocketbook for future distribution.

I reprogram the radio to stations I like instead of those my kids have selected.

I look at pictures from my wallet of my children at various stages in their lives.

I take out the car manual and read the section on how to recharge a dead battery – just in case. One can never be over-prepared when waiting in line to have one's car inspected.

 

I clean fingerprints off the windows and mirrors with what I hope is an unused Kleenex.

 

I meditate.

 

I imagine myself on a beach in Bora Bora with a fabulous suntan, a flat stomach, and perfectly straight hair. There is a man I don't know sitting on the blanket next to me. I don't recognize him. I continue my reverie without an ounce of guilt about the hunk on a towel, who, in my daydream, just brought me a tall, cold piña colada with an umbrella straw.

 

I curse at myself for not bringing a book or a magazine to read while waiting in line.

 

Then I begin to fixate on waiting in lines.

 

I think about things like whether you wait "in" a line or you wait "on" a line. In New Jersey, I waited "on" line, but once I moved away from the Metropolitan New York area, no one waited "on" line anymore. They waited "in" line. It's so confusing.

 

I start to write a list. I write a lot of lists. Lists add order to my constant state of chaos, confusion, and anxiety.

 

The list I create is my Waiting List.

 

When I hit six hundred sixty-four things on my list that I have personally waited for on a regular or irregular basis, and I am not even near the head of the car inspection line, I know I am in big trouble. From waiting on hold to waiting for replies to waiting for clients to waiting for results to waiting for deliveries, this is a subject that could send me spiraling downward at warp speed into a bottomless pit filled with old French fries, lost retainers, and used Kleenex.

 

I imagine hearing people adding their opinions to this discussion about waiting:

“I must waste half my life commuting to work.”

 

“I hate waiting in waiting rooms.”

 

“I waited a year for that government rebate.”

 

“I am waiting for my kid to clean his room.”

 

“I was in labor for six days until they finally told me I could push.”

 

“I was on hold for an hour and a half before the customer service representative got on to tell me I had the wrong extension.”

 

“I waited twenty-five years for him to finally admit he was wrong.”

 

"I waited twenty-six years for him to finally tell me I was right."

 

But that is other people. That is not me. Other people take things like waiting for things in their stride.

 

I don’t.

 

I am totally aware of this because I am a realist. I know who I am and what makes me tick. I know my limitations. I know I waste a lot of time waiting, but I waste a lot more time obsessing about it. Then I waste even more time obsessing about the fact that I am wasting time obsessing about wasting time.

 

It’s not a pretty picture, and I’m starting to worry a little.

"Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong."

George Carlin