Waiting, or: I'm restless, but have nothing to say.

A couple of years ago I read a book called Waiting, by Debra Ginsberg. It's a memoir chronicling the twenty years she spent waiting tables - waiting, she says, for her life to start. It's a compelling read; Ginsberg's life and experiences at various restaurants across the country are interesting, and frequently funny. I related on multiple levels. What I'm thinking about today, though, is this idea that because table waiting isn't a respected profession, it's something that people do while they wait to do something else. I think this idea is basically true for nearly any position in the service industry. We take these jobs because we're waiting to finish school before getting a "real job". We're waiting for a better job to come along, we're waiting to figure out what we want to do, we're waiting for something, anything, to change. We're waiting for some result that will make all this time spent waiting worthwhile.

I've been a cashier for six months now. I like my job. I like the company I work for. I plan to make my career (such as it is) with this company.

So what the fuck am I still waiting for?