Being in the UK is a challenge for me an American from NYC, who is already naturally impatient by nature. The politeness in this part of the world is starting to cause me a great amount of stress. It is the main reason things move so slow. All this blast-it queuing and letting people skip in front of you, as if all the other people haven’t lives to live and errands to run.
I am currently in Scotland, the Highlands to be exact, and to say that I am losing the will to live is an understatement, the weather is about to drive me around the bend. It is raining, windy, cold, and the hotel seems to be operating under the misconception that the odd anemic wisps of heat issuing forth from the heater occasionally, constitutes heat. I did have to ask the very cute waiter in the bar last evening, as I sat shivering over my appetizer, “Exactly how cold does it have to be in this country before you turn the heating on?” His response was, “It is on full blast.” I then pointed he attention to the cold radiator sitting next to me as an example of the gold standard of heat produced by the hotel. It was cold. He then went to have a word with the management, to date the radiator was still cold when I returned for supper last night, so I quickly ordered my dinner to be brought to my room where I have a space heater blasting and has the room a toasty 24 degrees. A rather civilized temperature.
The other thing that gets up my ass about being over here, is the almost obsessive need to chit-chat! I just want to go in get my groceries, or phone credit and get to fuck out of the store and go home, not spend 1 min purchasing and 10 min chatting about whatever. Or worst yet is some old dear in front of you, for whom the social event of the week is buying groceries, then decides to regale all and sundry with a laundry list of her latest ailments? I want to scream, or put her out of her misery.
I am naturally impatient, have always been. I have tried to not be so impatient, but it doesn’t seem to work, if anything it is getting worse. I have taken Bach’s flower remedies, didn’t touch the sides. Even the woman in the store said that maybe, I might like to try yoga! Yoga, does she think I am a bloody pretzel? Oi Vey!