I am not a patient person. If I weren’t writing this column, I’d probably skip right to the end.
Once years ago, in my very first job interview, the woman interviewing me asked me what my best quality was. I said punctuality. That was years ago, but it still might be. It’s certainly up there, and it’s not a long list.
I dislike sitting around. I don’t care to relax. I don’t understand delayed gratification. I hate going to the doctor’s office not because I don’t like getting poked and jabbed (both of which are fine by me) but because the idea of sitting in a waiting room surrounded by the sick and the dying or, worse, children, is about the worst thing I can imagine.
So you may well imagine the frustrations of moving. Contrary to its name, the act of moving involves quite a bit of, well, not moving.
There is, for instance, the ordering of a moving truck. I did this a week prior to needing the truck and, because in addition to being hyperactive I am also deeply paranoid that my plans will go askew, I called the truck company to confirm my order several days later. A man on the phone assured me my truck would be ready to pick up. In Jackson.
Well, I’ve never lived in Jackson and certainly had no plans to drive to Jackson to pick up a truck, and so I was transferred to a kindly woman who told me Jackson was the mere regional hub, or something, and the truck would be sent from there. Or something.
Whatever it was, the day before I needed the truck the company called me at 6 p.m. to happily report that the truck was in Jackson, Tennessee, waiting for me. Of course, not only had I never lived in any city called Jackson, I’ve never lived in Tennessee. The company pointed out they never guaranteed anything. And why would they? No one needs guarantees when they’re moving.
So, moving was postponed a week. I waited. Now I am here and I am waiting to get Internet installed. These days, and especially if you’re in the news business, Internet service is about as important as water service but even so it takes days of waiting to get. For that matter, I got in to Picayune after 5 p.m. on a Friday and so I had to wait for the water service to be connected, too.
I knew it would be a long drive to Picayune and I would have left earlier, except someone had called the night before, interested in buying some item I was trying to unload prior to the move. I told the lady I’d wait on her until 10 a.m. Friday. So, I waited. She never showed (naturally).