I am waiting for the repair man to return. I am waiting to cash in and make a few million. I am waiting for my father to call. I am waiting to hear what issues are important in the next election. I am waiting to settle down. I am waiting for Divine Intervention. I am waiting to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I am waiting for the grass to grow. I am waiting for the paint to dry. I am waiting to fill out an application to transfer utilities for an apartment we bought. I am waiting in the lobby of Elmű on Vaci utca.
I have taken a number from the number dispensing machine. My number is 335. They are serving number 321. When the red LED display changes numbers, there is an all-too-familiar two-note announcement played out on an electronic musical instrument that sounds like no instrument I have ever heard in orchestras, rock bands or cartoons. It is unique. Not to Elmű. Unique to waiting in Hungary.
I have heard that two-note ditty at my bank, at T-Pont, at the train station, at the gas company and I am convinced I have heard it in my dreams at night. Or were they nightmares?
Unlike many other times when I have waited, this time I think I have all the paperwork required to allow me to become a customer and pay Elmű money. I have my passport, my residency permit (yes, I have one), my company registration, a notarized signature sample, I have the meter reading document with the seller’s signature and my signature and I have a copy of the purchase agreement. And I have my company stamp. Don’t leave home without it.
I also have a nagging doubt. I have probably missed something. I have three different signature specimen documents. Did I bring the right one? Why didn’t I bring them all? Why didn’t I just bring my entire filing cabinet? The signature document I brought works at the post office when I pick up registered mail from the post office notifying me that I have a package at another post office and worked at the post office where I went to pick up the package after receiving registered mail to inform me it was there. But I am not at the post office. I am at Elmu. And I am waiting. I am becoming Hungarian.
Hungarians wait. And what frightens me is that I am getting used to it. What no one has ever been able to teach me, Hungarians are. How to be patient. Really, really patient. Forget reading a book while you wait here, you could write one. Perhaps that’s why the country has so many authors. Books should not only say ‘written by’ but should also say ‘written where’. In the lobby of Elmű. In the Land Registry Office. At Kaiser’s. And trilogies? Written at the Hungarian-Serbian border.
Statisticians love coming up with new things to measure, once they have their navels all figured out. Why not the Chronological Registry for the Appraisal of Periods, a measure of time wasted? Or, since acronyms make things more memorable, CRAP for short. The statisticians get the number and then they give their CRAP to the economists. They can do their magic (you remember their magic) and economists could create a formula; a CRAP-GDP ratio to determine the economic implications of a country’s CRAP. The economist then give their CRAP to the bankers. And the bankers pass along their CRAP to the government. Once it gets that far we’ll need a Ministry of CRAP. And you know what that means. You see? In just a few hundred words we’ve spawned an entire new industry manufacturing CRAP. Move over, China. And just think of the job creation. Because what will this CRAP require? Forms and laws. Lots and lots of CRAP forms and laws. And then the government will do what it does best and pass the CRAP on to the populace.
Of course, all this can’t happen overnight but that’s OK. I can wait.
