Other People´s Time

I got there first.

I had time to prepare for my coffee and find my voice. I like getting place early — it’s my thing. I like waiting for others. I like seeing them arrive. I chose a table right in the middle of a café located on the corner of Paraguay and Azcuenaga, Buenos Aires. The waitress came, I looked at her, and I said, “I’m waiting for someone. I’d like to order when she gets here”.

She quickly walked off to prepare an order for a pregnant woman. I sat there thinking about her. She had barely acknowledged me, but I’d noticed her. She was tired. I could sense some sort of pain in her expression. I tried not to worry too much.

I had to prepare to have coffee with my guest.

Who was I waiting for? My ear, nose and throat specialist. I met her two years ago after being mugged. I’d had a tomography done and, thanks to the results, she ended being more than just my ear nose and throat doctor. She ended up being my surgeon.

A week before this meeting, I’d invited her to write a letter to publish in the next edition of my book. I asked her to have it ready by Monday. Publishers need a lot of time, and time is always short. Why is it so hard for us to manage our time? Editing, cover art, layout and the actual printing of the book all take time.

She sent me the letter by Whatsapp at 11:40 at night. Now it was 11:30 in the morning and I had the letter in my hands — the printed version, the one I’ve been correcting, underlining, crossing out with my pen. And my pen was anxious to keep working. I’d already read the letter three, four, more than five times.

Reading the letter made me think of questions she’d never asked me.

It hurt, but it also made me glad in way. The pain of her shyness, and the joy of my discovery. It allowed me to get to know her much more than I had during my brief visits with her at the clinic. Her letter warmed my soul. But now it was time to prepare for my coffee and find my voice.

One of my goals this year is to have coffee with a different person every week. It’s incredible how I’m managing to reach that goal, and next up I’m going to set out to lose weight. I told my cousin at the end of last year that I want to bring my weight down to the double digits (in kilograms!). Now we’re almost halfway through the year and the numbers aren’t in my favor. But somehow I feel lighter — because I’ve come to understand that I’m not taking anything with me from this world

I continued to underline parts of her letter. There was only one period in the whole thing — it was one big run-on sentence. The fact that she’s a doctor is quite clear, but I love her just the same. She knows I’m a big fan of marking the end of my sentences. I remember her “like” on that Facebook post. But clearly she’s forgotten. Or worse, maybe she’s neglected to use her resources — to turn over the page, to forgive, to pause, and make room for her own silences.

One problem I always have is that I try to get things done without silencing the Whatsapp notifications on my phone. T he constant beeping caused me to lose my concentration and I got distracted from the task at hand. I looked up and saw the pregnant woman again, leaning back a little more on her chair. She seemed to be pretty close to her due date. Was it her first baby? I wondered. I continue to think about her as the waitress walked by my table without even noticing that I wanted to make an order.

That damn habit that people have of not looking up! I detest the fact that we can’t look one another in the eyes. It drives me insane that we’re such idiots that we can’t enjoy the silence of a glance. I hope that doesn’t offend anyone, but maybe that’s what it takes for people to understand and appreciate the infinite silence of those who don’t have a voice.

Before I knew it, Ana arrived and we started to talk.

She didn’t offer excuses for being late — she’s a doctor. We had so many things to discuss, but she said she only had a few minutes. They were waiting for her at another clinic in just a little while. She spends her life rushing from one place to the next. She knows all the shortcuts through the neighborhood and she’s familiar with all the sidewalks. We were in the part of town where she works — not the area where I work.

She started to tell me about her weekend. I had a hard time interrupting her because she had so many things to tell me. I looked at her and listened until the waitress happily butted in.

“Would you like to order something?”

I was so tempted to say, “Yes, I want to order you to be happy, to enjoy the meeting of our glances, to look at us, to perceive us. Because who knows? This café just might inspire a book, a song, a story.”

“A large coffee with a lot of milk”, Ana replied.

“Steamed milk with just a bit of coffee”, I said.

Ana continued to talk without realizing that we’d both ordered the same thing, but in different words. As she spoke, I tried to put myself on pause. I forgot about the reason for our meeting — I needed her to order me some blood work. She hadn’t forgotten though. In fact she’d run over to her other office to get the papers.

She asked for my insurance card while she continued to tell me about things I can’t repeat — things about her technological knowledge and its application in daily life. I grabbed a piece of paper and started to take note.

I looked at her and said:

“Have you ever noticed that the most intense moments of your life are when you have the most brilliant ideas?!”

“How could you come up with that when you were so angry?”

“I’m amazed by your talent.”

All this as I grabbed a pastry.

I respected her time; I waited for her. I tried to create an encounter, to acknowledge her existence, to make her the focus of our meeting and make her feel that I was truly seeing her.

That’s why I prepared my coffee and tried to find my voice. The temptation to turn my phone over was almost too strong because I have an Apple watch that vibrates and beeps all the time, but I managed to resist. Ana deserved my full attention because she was opening her heart.

The tone and lack of urgency in her voice remained unchanged despite the intensity of what she was sharing. I had to make a double effort to pay attention because, when I’d picked our table, I hadn’t realized that everyone walking in and out of the café had to walk right by us.

Ana tried to write out my prescription as she continued to tell me about how amazing her weekend had been. I tried to tell her a bit about mine. I manage to do so and she engaged and listened. I played her game: She focuses on her patients, and I’m one of them.

She only had a few minutes, she’d told me, but an hour had gone by and time seemed to have stopped. I needed to get back to my office for an important meeting.

My cell phone beeped and I ignore it. Her phone rang — a call — and she ignored it, too. I celebrated.

We continued to talk and suddenly and I blurt out, “Was it okay for me to eat that pastry? I’m supposed to have my blood drawn! I’ve been fasting for 12 hours and now I’ve ruined it!” But she told me just to wait two hours, so I relaxed.

She continued to build on her story and I responded that I didn’t know how to handle her conflict; I didn’t have the resources to do so. I have my own conflicts, I added. Several times I felt the urge to reach out with some piece of advice, like a friend. But I decided to simply observe, acknowledge her and nod my head.

She wanted me to listen. She wasn’t looking for advice.

I knew this coffee could change my world and hers.

We went back to talking about her weekend, but it was really getting late.

Ana has a lot more to tell me, but we’ve already connected. I had the peace of knowing that our coffee was almost over and that my task of changing the world was done for the morning.

I looked up to find the waitress and she saw me right away. A miracle.

I opened my wallet to find nothing but a large bill. The waitress didn’t want to give me change so I ended up paying with a card. Big mistake. Ana and I were both in a big hurry; I had to go to get my blood work done and she had to get to the clinic. I had people waiting for me in my office as well, but our meeting was so intense that we’d both completely forgotten about our afternoon agendas.

We waited and waited for my receipt. We stood up and looked towards the register. Typical. Just when you’re in a rush, people start taking their time! There are two moments that are crucial when it comes to me and wait staff: Our first contact, and our last. The first is important because that’s when I can see if they possess any empathy. The last contact is key because it determines whether or not I’ll ever come back. This time around, the receipt was taking too long.

I put on my jacket and Ana grabbed her purse. I walked towards the register, making the waitress a bit uncomfortable. She knew I wouldn’t be coming back and I felt bad, because I was stuck with that urge to order her to be happy.

When I got to the register, the owner appeared — or at least I she looked like the owner. I could tell from the disappointed look on her face that she too could see that I wouldn’t be a returning customer, and there was nothing she could do. I hope she doesn’t call the waitress out, I thought as I signed my receipt.

Ana grinned because she knew I could take this moment in any direction. I looked at the waitress and smiled, trying to get her to do the same. It didn’t work. I was just about to tell her to be happy, but it was too late. She was already on her way to the pregnant woman’s table, again.

Pressing needs come first. Ana knows about pressing needs. She’s a doctor.

I love creating conversation. Although, if I really think about it, what I really love is listening to others.

I don’t understand why we’re such idiots sometimes! Why is it so hard for us to understand that what we give in life — including our time, our attention — is more important that what we receive?!

This is my first story about time: Other people’s time.