All I wanted was a napkin. My chipotle chicken club sandwich rested at a nearby table while I waited because in my haste to retrieve my sandwich and drink I neglected the simplest luxury. The napkin. 

There I was. Standing near the napkin dispenser with only one thing holding me back. A middle-aged lady planted squarely in front of it. So I waited patiently as she stood there directly in front of the napkin dispenser for several seconds while attempting to put the lid onto her beverage cup. She seemed to be having some difficulty. This woman, despite appearing to be in her 50s, had evidently never placed a lid on a cup before. 

I had been waiting for 10 entire seconds. 

I imagine most people would scoff at that last sentence. After all, how long is 10 seconds, really? But my question for them is how do you not notice someone standing directly behind you for 10 whole seconds? Wouldn’t your situational-awareness gene kick into full effect by then and notify you of your surroundings? Wouldn’t you turn at some point to see what they need? Wouldn’t you try to move if you realized you were in the way? Wouldn’t you? After all, the whole concept of the deli is to not be in the way. 

You enter the restaurant and move all the way to the left, then after ordering, you move to the middle to inform the next associate about what veggies and condiments you desire, before stepping aside again to pay, and once more afterwards to not be in the way of the people who still need to pay. But it doesn’t stop there. In a busy, bustling atmosphere like a deli lunchtime crowd, you always need to be mindful of your surroundings. And this lady was not very attentive. 

After several grueling seconds of watching her struggle with the lid, she set it back on the counter and grabbed a lid for a large cup. No! I screamed internally. “You had the right size the first time!” I quickly stepped back and glanced around the restaurant, searching for a second napkin dispenser, but much to my dismay, there was only one, and this woman had been standing directly in front of it now for 15 entire seconds. 

She lined up the much larger lid to the medium sized cup and like a toddler attempting to push a square peg into a round hole, noticed her error, but only after a considerable amount of bewilderment. I snuck a worrisome glance at my sandwich. It was likely still very warm, but the clock was ticking, and it was losing steam with every passing moment. 

Twenty seconds!

Twenty entire seconds with me standing directly behind her. Not close enough to make things uncomfortable but surely close enough for her to notice. How could she not? I was literally right behind her. Put it this way. If I had a metal rope in my pocket, I could’ve easily wrapped it around her neck a few times and dragged her to the ground, choking and gasping for air. Obviously, I’d never succeed in killing her as I’m sure several of the other deli patrons would quickly rush to her aid and would restrain me until the police arrived. It would become a big story on the local news. Friends and coworkers of mine would say things like, “He seemed like such a normal guy, and, I never f to b would have suspected that he’d be capable of this.* The trial wouldn’t take long. My lawyer would attempt to plead insanity, but the judge wouldn’t buy it. I’d face a lengthy prison sentence and even upon my release, years later, would be considered a social pariah. People would rush inside and lock their doors when they saw me coming around. My own friends would block my phone calls and avoid me at all costs and forget about my wife and kids. They likely moved away and changed their names while I was still in prison. So, I’d simply roam the streets all day, making unnecessarily long eye contact with people as they passed by. They’d shout insults at me and shield their children from my presence. “You’re a monster,” they’d say. “A maniac! A mongrel! A menace!” 

“Boy, you sure do like words that start with M!” I’d shout back while eating food out of a dumpster. You’ve got to learn to appreciate what you have in life. 

As for the woman from the deli, I’m sure she underwent years and years of therapy stemming from her traumatic experience. But I bet she keeps her head on a swivel now. I bet she’s vigilant when she goes out in public, and I bet she’d notice when a man stands directly behind her for 25 fucking seconds! 

I rocked back and forth on my heels a few times. This was getting absurd. The woman finally managed to make a little progress, but of course, she overfilled the cup, so once she pressed the lid down, soda spilled out the sides, forming a small puddle beneath it. Fortunately for her, she was in close proximity to the napkins. I watched as she balled up a half dozen of them and slowly swished them along the counter, making more of a mess than was necessary. 

I sensed a presence in my periphery and turned to see that a man was now standing behind me, presumably also waiting for a napkin. Buckle up for the ride, I wanted to say. We might be here a while. 

It’s been thirty whole seconds. Thirty whole seconds, and now there’s not one but two people waiting for this lady to come back to earth. I turned again towards the man behind me and gave him an annoyed eye roll while motioning towards the woman, but he doesn’t react at all. I wonder what’s going on in his mind, and I begin to worry that he has a metal rope in his pocket. 

I snuck another glance at my sandwich. My god, it looks delicious, and the prolonged wait is killing me. This must be how Gandhi felt. 

I rocked back and forth on my heels a few more times. Then I closed my eyes tightly for a few seconds, hoping when I opened them, the woman would be gone. Not simply out of the way, but gone completely. Vaporized into thin air. Banished from existence. No longer a nuisance to humankind. Yet, when I reopened them, she was still there, slowly peeling off the wrapper to a straw. My brain was about to explode! 

”Oh, come on! Why can’t that be done at your table? Placing the lid on the cup at the beverage station is understandable. Why risk a spill? But now that the lid is safely secured to the cup, move aside and insert the straw at your table at your own miserably slow pace!”

My wife would later tell me that I should’ve tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, may I please get a napkin?” But why on earth would I have to do that? That makes it sound like I’m asking her for permission. As if I’m the one inconveniencing her and not the other way around. Like she’s doing me a favor. 

Look, if you’re at a red light that turns green and the car up front doesn’t react quickly enough, you don’t casually approach his window and say, “Excuse me, sir, would it be okay if we all drove now?” 

No, you honk your horn at them and call them an asshole. That’s just how the world works. I don’t make the rules. 

I don’t know what I’ll say to this woman once she finally turns around, but I know what I’d like to say. I’d like to remind her that we live in a society. I’d like to remind her that we share this space with 8 billion other people, and it would be nice if certain individuals could be respectful of other people’s valuable time. It would be nice if some people could realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. That they aren’t the center of the god-damn uni—

“Oh, sorry about that,” the woman casually remarked while finally turning around. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “I only wanted a napkin.”