It was with some relief today that I discovered that my impatience knows no international borders. Over the last few years in the places I've lived and worked, I have noticed that if I'm kept waiting beyond the expected time or without word from people in charge, I get cross. Restaurants, banks, airports, anywhere. I hate to stand still and be unproductive. It brings out the worst in me. And sometimes the best. But over the last couple of years, I started to worry that my impatience was a bit more sinister; that it existed only in developing countries; that it was an insidious form of discrimination on my part; that it was in places where I should have been more sensitive.
But no! I was waiting in a London bank this morning and after a half-hour's wait for an appointment, I saw red and let the bank manager know it.
Joy! I'm not a monster. I don't discriminate (I actually quite like the ginger people). I'm just a global customer prepared to fight for some control in an increasingly faceless consumer society. And in places where they don't really like customers.
But I still don't have a freakin' bank account.
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