I is for Impatience

As age rises, patience sink.
Younger Me? A checkout line at Target didn’t bother me much. Waiting left time for impulse purchases: magazines, lip balm, a new flavor of Tic Tac. Good stuff, right there. In my twenties, I had two cavities — from Lifesavers (couldn’t resist ’em) — and a glove box full of wet wipes because of waiting in checkout lines; you just never know when a packet of those will come in handy.
Now, though…well…I just don’t have the patience anymore to allow the person in front of me in line to pay for a fifty-two dollar purchase by slowly counting out the contents of a Ziploc full of nickels and dimes. (She wanted to keep the quarters for later. “Nope, can’t spend that,” she chuckled. “Gotta take the Gremlin to the car wash.”)
I feel on the cusp of The Wait. I see that patience is a virtue and a benevolent practice, yadda yadda yadda, BUT. BUT! I’m running out of time, people! And one more second in the queue with strangers is eating into that time. Especially when I spy the Target Starbucks and its delicious mocha iced anything right stinkin’ there if only I can pay for my no-aluminum deodorant and multi-vitamin.
And when it comes to answering questions, I’m afraid I like the idea preferred by the Youths: 140 characters or less is sufficient for most answers.
Less if it’s a question asked of WebMD because more than 100 characters will scare the crap out of anyone. Avoid like the plague.
For expediency, I stick to Google. Quick, semi-reliant, easy to access, no filler, no chit-chat. Seems “Impersonal” is what I need right now.