The Wait

I wait.

An anxious, achey, pacing wait for a phone call that I know won't come for hours. Files are open on the desk and I shuffle the papers around so it appears I'm working. But I'm not. I'm waiting. Mulling, thinking, pondering.

Calls come and go. Clients mostly. Explaining in too much detail about things I couldn't possibly help them with. Stammering when asked if they want voice mail as if one needs an Engineering Degree from M.I.T. to use it. My mind is elsewhere though. Thinking, considering and wishing for different scenarios.

I wait.

Meeting time. Coffee and bagels and donuts sit on a tray tempting me with their beautiful morning scent. Alas, I am hungry but cannot eat. Well, maybe just some coffee. Suits show off their proud spreadsheets and pie charts and red markings and highlighted areas. The colors and lines and grids dazzle eyes. Eyes that are only looking though. Voices and inflections and excitement fill the small conference room in an echoey surround-sound. But the ears take in nothing. The mind is otherwise too preoccupied with "what ifs?" to see and hear.

I wait.

Back at my desk. Its the same as it was five minutes after I walked in the door this morning. It seems like forever ago. Should I call? It it even worse than I fear? Damn! How bad is this going to affect me? Us? My family?

I have to wait though.

Are my collegues noticing my apparent vacancy? My bosses? Can they tell? Should I open up to them? Let them in even if just a little? Certainly, everyone's been there a time or two. God knows I've been there plenty. No, I decide. I don't need the pity. I hate that kind of attention.

I'll just wait.

He should have called by now. It's been forever. What? Six hours? Should I call him? No, I decide in short order. He knows I'm waiting. He'll call when he has something to tell me. I'll give him another hour or so, then I'll have to call though.

I finger through paperwork. As if I'm looking for something in a file. But it could never be found in any event. I'd have to be actually paying attention to find it. And I'm not. Perhaps I've gotten 30 minuntes of work done. Feebly fielded a few phone calls but mostly, I've waited.

And waited.

At long last, my desk phone pages me. Is this it? Can I finally begin to move on? Begin the healing process? Get over the anxiety. Bite the bullet and deal with the issue at hand like a trooper?

"Nouveau?" calls the receptionists voice.

"Yes?"

"Greg on line 3 for you"

Finally! The call. Yet I wait a bit more. I just cannot bear yet to grab that receiver. A deep breath. Just a second to find a pleasant place in my mind. I pick up.

"Hello?" I say into a mouthpiece that is closer to my throat than my mouth.

"Hello! Mr. Blogger?" comes an all-too-cheery voice in the earpiece. Loud. Too loud. Overly, salesmanly happy. He knows what's at stake here. He should know better.

"Yes" I reply. Barely a whisper, though. In nano-seconds my mind is still processing a multitude of different ways he may retort. Yet it doesn't matter. The truth is at hand. And its not in my hands. Its in his, which hold an inherent conflict of interest.

"Mr. Blogger.....We've looked at your car. We found that the problem is.........."