Be with you in a mo'

Do you remember that Guinness advert with a bloke on the surfboard? He waits. I can do that, not the surfing thing but the waiting. I don’t start to get cross or feel I need to check that someone knows I’m there. I just settle back and wait. I always say it’s because I’m a trusting sort of chap. I rely on the kindness of strangers. I expect people to get to me in the end. If I were on a tube train that ground to a halt in the darkness, I wouldn’t be one that decided to get off and walk. I’d expect someone to come and get me—sooner or later. If it were a lift, I’d prop myself up in the corner and wait rather than getting all Bruce Willis.

It helps that I expect to be kept waiting. I always take something to do as I wait - usually a book. I’ve covered quite a lot of pages in waiting rooms recently.

Health appointments are a bit like rabbits—every one breeds several more. In order to speak to some sort of specialist, there are any number of steps to be taken beforehand. From time immemorial, a doctor’s time has always been much more valuable than mine, or yours. Sometimes I wonder if they nearly do it on purpose because we're an unreliable lot. The medics can't be sure that the sick and infirm will turn up as they should, or cancel beforehand, so they overbook. But it’s the process too. For instance, I had to see the oncologist last week. He needs information, so he sent me for a scan and blood tests. They’re nothing much, I've done lots of them, but they need organising and attending, and each one has its own little waiting period. Often there is travelling time too; I noticed that going to Alicante for a CT scan the other day was a round trip of 130 km, and with the inevitable "just in case time" the whole process took me nearly four hours from setting out to getting home. The blood tests are done locally and take very little time—maybe half an hour including travelling—but the actual consult with the oncologist is always a drawn out affair. The time before last, as well as the 90-minute round trip, I waited for over three hours, and this time it was just over 80 minutes. Somebody waiting alongside asked what time I had for my appointment. She was a booked in after me and she was trying to guess how long to go. “I nearly always have to wait a couple of hours,” she said, “sometimes three”.

I was thinking about this waiting as I sat, with someone else, for him to be called to renew his ID card. Because I was with someone else, I couldn’t really bury my nose in my book, and as we weren’t nattering about anything, I just stared into space and wondered if there was enough meat in this waiting topic for a blog. I decided there wasn't but, as I stared at the screen that gave the information that called people to their interviews, I realised it was hard to read and that, in turn, reminded me that the optician had kept me waiting over half an hour for my last eye test just the week before. I must say I was a bit surprised about that as I thought I was the first appointment of the morning. Oh, and because the cataracts are coming on nicely he gave me a letter for my GP which meant I had to make another appointment with her. What put the cherry on it though, as a blog, was SEAT, the car people.

A mechanic pal put the wind up me after he serviced the car by saying that it was time to get the timing belt changed. The internet was full of contradictory information about when—or if—the belt should be changed, so I decided to go with the mechanic’s advice. The only problem was that he couldn’t do it without some specialist kit that he needed to get from one of his friends, and for some reason or another, that just wasn’t happening. Now, in fear of the modern equivalent of conrods punching through the bonnet, I asked another local mechanic if he could do it, and he said yes, but not till September. So, I decided to sacrifice my wallet to the Motoring Gods and went to the nearest SEAT dealer and asked for a quote. 

I’d expected a spot of bother explaining why I wanted the belt changed. It's not part of the routine maintenance and it’s no longer even the car maker’s advice. Not a word. As soon as I asked the Service Manager chappy for a quote he went into computer tapping mode. He asked the occasional question but he didn't really say anything. He just tapped. Now and again he'd stir from his chair and go to talk to a fitter or asked his colleague something but it was all related to preparing the quote. It took him 35 minutes - 35 minutes to do that. For goodness sake. In the olden days, when you asked a mechanic for a price, he, it has always been a he, sucked on his teeth, wiped more oil from the rag onto his hands, said "it won't be cheap" and then said something like "between 6 and 7". You groaned. He looked into the middle distance. Not exactly precise but quick, and human. The SEAT quote is 621.34€. I suppose it takes time to get it right to the cent.

They tell me I may have to wait up to two days to get the car back when it goes in.