Making Every Minute Count

I have long heard that a serious illness or a brush with death changes you forever. Supposedly you see the world differently afterwards. I assumed that meant you were now happy with the slightest thing -- awed by every sunset and blown away by the delicate scent of a rose or the exotic taste of a mango. Sadly, that has not been my experience in the days following my heart attack. I have indeed been changed, but for the worse. I am now more impatient than ever, having seen clear proof that any breath may be my last, I've got no time to waste. Hurry up, come on, let's get on with it. Since patience has never been my strong suit (in fact I never even got that suit), this is a bad development that I hope is temporary.

Today at the market I learned just how short my patience has become. It was revealed by a checkout person who must have A, never been trained to work a cash register or B, was trained but slept through it or C, is the niece of the store owner and that's how she got the job. Or D, is from another planet where they don't have oranges, since the problem arose over two oranges I wanted to buy that I ended up not buying because she didn't even know what they were and had to ask me (WTF?), and then she couldn't figure out how much they cost even after I told her the displayed price I had seen.

First I waited, rolling my eyes and sighing heavily as she stood there and literally scratched her head, like maybe an idea would fall out of it, making it clear to her that I thought she was clueless. Then I started looking at my watch. Finally I asked if I could have them for free. She said no. I asked if I could have them if I paid her five bucks for each one. She said no again. I hated her. I told her in no uncertain terms that I did not want my life to end inside this particular market and she could take her damn oranges and shove them up her considerable ass, just keep the fucking oranges and please let me out of here.

I wasn't proud. As I said, I hope it's temporary.