Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Black Suits

Real work lies in knowing how to wait.
                               Jean Rostand


There he stood, in a glistening black suit. The sun was shining and he just stood there at the entrance. I sat and watched him for about half an hour and neither of us moved. Patiently, he stood near the entrance that he had just walked through. It was apparent to me that he was in wait for someone.


My first impression was that he was the compulsive early type. You know the kind? That person, who will be in some cases an hour early. I know this because I happen to be one of those people. I would rather be an hour early, than one minute late. This fellow may have to stand out there facing that entrance, in the sweltering hot sun which made his coat glisten, for a very long time.


Downtown Toronto has many views. I know this because I have happily spent hours there in wait. My compulsive early self usually can be seen perched on a bench, hopefully in the sun. With a pen and paper in hand where I will watch people dressed in black suits or other work attire rush by. I have also observed many who stand in wait. Dressed in their black suits, they fiddle with their cell phones. Their compulsive early self will stand to wait, and to wonder why everyone is not as prompt as they are.

It makes no difference to me if the person I am waiting for is not even out of bed, or depending on the time of day, still at work. I will still be there waiting. Long ago I naively believed that everyone was like me. Believed, that everyone was a compulsive early person. This is so far from the reality of life.

I have waited for hours for people who think that leaving their houses on the time they had agreed to meet, to be a very acceptable practice. Travel time apparently does not count in their heads. This type of person still kind of freaks me out, when I have to wait for them. All those things that run through my head are exhausting. To think of the reason for their lateness is very unnerving, in my head.


My black suited statue still stood there, at the entrance. He shifted slightly, and I could see there was no briefcase. Why would there be? This was not downtown Toronto. This was the field behind my house back on the farm.

The tom turkey with the glistening black suit appeared to run over to shake hands with another black suited fellow who walked through the gate. The sun bounced off his suit and made it glisten too. They both stood and chatted while they waited for yet another not compulsive early person. Possibly, he left his place at the agreed upon time to meet.



Two more dark-suited turkeys walked through the gate. After the greetings, they all walked together and headed to the office, no doubt to be repeated the next day.


The imagination is a wonderful thing, and it seems to me that there is not that much difference between the two worlds that I find myself in at times. There are black suits everywhere. Everyone has a job to do no matter what they wear or where they live. Those who are late will always be late and those like me will always be in wait.

Joining my good friend Theresa for Good Fences. Check it out.


Later