I hate slow.
Clumping through the ritual of waiting for others every day has etched deep, cankering grooves in my psyche. People insist on stepping in front of me only to walk at half my speed– sometimes less than half. How do they get anything done, practically loitering there in the path like they’re on a death march and trying to postpone the inevitable? Yes, you’re going to die. Have some decency, man, and don’t take me with you.
On the road, cars spontaneously slip in front of mine (no blinker required), only to proceed considerably slower than the speed I was enjoying just a moment before. You saw me coming, gauged my velocity– why are you inflicting such torment on me? Did I drown your puppy in a past life? There was no one behind me– why couldn’t you wait ’til I safely passed? And why one earth would anyone under 75 go 25 MPH in a 35 zone with no other traffic hindering them (okay, time’s up. pencils down)? They should be going 40. Get thee BEHIND me, you dogs!
And don’t get me started about buffet lines. You see the look of contempt you get if you try to pass one of those heavy thinkers? For heaven’s sake– take the peas, don’t take the peas! It isn’t like deciding whether to cut the red wire or the blue wire!
For the life of me, I don’t understand why there are countless scriptures extolling patience but hardly a peep about expedition.
“For the fast man is a friend to God. He getteth things done and has room to spare. He findeth his way and doth not tarry. He be quick to observe, quick to respond, quick to obey. God speed the right… God speed the right.”
I’m sure most– if not all– of these hapless minions are oblivious to their participation in Satan’s torture-by-dawdling campaign against me. They’re slow-witted innocents meandering around dreamily with lag-bombs duct-taped to them (armed with delayed triggers, of course), drifting in my direction.
In the meantime, I get to brush up on my patience skills.
And we’re walking… we’re walking…