Bliss: Blood

A quarter to nine and there were probably ten people waiting to get called. Some of them were regulars, but a couple of newbies were looking around nervously, wondering what was going to happen next.

I did my meet and greet with the computer, explained for around the 60th time that I did not have relations with any Haitian voodoo practitioners while I was having a mad cow burger, took my seat and waited to be called.

And waited.

And waited.

The people leaving the room was a slow trickle. Meanwhile, one episode of "Charmed" rolled into another. I watched commercials about feminine itch problems and snack foods because pretty clearly whoever programmed the show starts drinking pretty early. You'd think they'd try to match things a little better in the same commercial break. I mean, if you've got an itchy vagina, do you really want Cheetos or a can of Dole pineapples right after you use the miraculous sanitary wipe that also deodorizes?

I don't think so. The magic of modern science aside, I'm thinking maybe you might wait --like the 15 minute thing before going back into the pool after having a snack. Maybe you'd want to test drive a new Honda first or plan to watch "The Dark Knight" Friday or Saturday, when it makes its non-pay cable channel debut with limited, but probably still a shitload of, commercials.

Pretty clearly, I was watching too much tv and thinking about it in ways entirely unhelpful to the people seated around me. Suddenly, it was 30 minutes later and there were still quite a few people ahead of me.

I could probably use the money, but I kind of needed to get to work and I wanted to stop by Habitat for Humanity to look at filing cabinets. It was 20 minutes after the hour then 25 minutes.

I got up and left.

There was no fuss. I didn't make a scene. I didn't go up to the desk and say, "Hey, why is this taking so long?"I just left.

Maybe it's time to put up or shut up, write the book proposal and see if anything sticks.