Sitting in a waiting room invites simple attractions.
Atmosphere unique…pink, grey, maroon
rap music playing softly (is that an oxymoron?)
Waiting Room People sit and watch the Workers
with their vacuums, brooms, parading in and out.
Women with big hair wearing huge sun glasses
Vending machines clink and clunk and give refreshments
phones ring, lights blink, an intercom sqwacks and hisses,
An automatic door vies with an electric eye for control of a door mat.
I always talk to strangers. We form no bond, sitting there
chatting about the fish tank. It doesn’t matter what language is used,
there is only so much one can say about fish.
There is no social hierarchy in a fish tank. Color is immaterial.
No one is impressed with Irridescence. Bottom feeders are free to graze.
Pink fish are just as good as Big fish, although possibly…more vulnerable.
The biggest Angel Fish is not in charge here…but he thinks he is,
which is about the same thing. He swims around in his cool
hipster fish style, while little fish ignore him.
Oh-oh, a challenger! A tense moment as they
posture…staring eye to eye with a bump to the shoulder,
since they can’t arm wrestle.
“Please lift you feet,” asks the Hipoctamus, as he vacuums by,
and the Angel Fish sail along grandly, on self-appointed patrol.
I never have had trouble killing time, as they say, although many times “found” time is a bonus for me. This is because it is usually time spent in a waiting room somewhere, an airport, in-between classes…wherever there is nothing to do but sit. Watching people is great fun, and that is one of the perks about waiting rooms, there are always people waiting too, or workers performing interesting tasks.
If the readership here was not made up almost exclusively of other Writers, I wouldn’t dream of revealing publically that I just spent two hours sitting alone in a waiting room, writing in a tiny notebook as fast as my fingers would scribble–about a fish tank. A giant fish tank, really well appointed with lovely fish of all persuasions, and of all things amazing…the feature is a giant navy submarine, sunken in the center of the scene at the ocean floor, its side all burst out and a big part of it ripped from the hull.
The ill-fated vessel has no identification, such as a national flag, or other information, but…well I know a navy submarine when I see one, even if it is at the bottom of a fish tank.
Yes, I did write a poem about it, plus a rambling but astute dissertation about fish and fish tanks politics. I will publish that soon. There is a photo, too!
While hanging around my little notebook also recorded an observation about Donald Trump and the Great Saga of the Two Debates. Oh, and some notes about the value of knowing languages other than one’s own…and my friend from Korea with whom I conversed for weeks with no mutual language.
I am very easily entertained. 🙂