ESTRAGON: He should be here.
VLADIMIR: He didn’t say for sure he’d come.
ESTRAGON: And if he doesn’t come?
VLADIMIR: We’ll come back tomorrow.
ESTRAGON: And then the day after tomorrow.
VLADIMIR: Possibly.
ESTRAGON: And so on.

Isn’t there a film where a guy becomes so frustrated with everything, he goes berserk?

Is that the best thing to do?

Or do we sit like Beckett’s characters, waiting without any certainty that the waiting will ever lead to anything.

An employer underpays for six years and three months ago receives a letter pointing this out?

No response.

I write again.

The tax authorities overcharge for 2006 and this is pointed out.

No response.

I write again.

A contractor promises to return to complete work.

No sign of him.

I must phone again.

A courier delivers a package yesterday.

“Where’s the other package?”

“I don’t know”

“There were two together.”

“It must be coming separately.

The online tracking says it went to Cologne by mistake. This morning it arrives in Dublin.

The online tracking says that the house cannot be found.

Finding a telephone number is more complicated than the most fiendish sodoku.

Endless automated options and finally a human being.

“Where’s my package?”

“Your house could not be found”.

“You found it yesterday”.

“Oh, yes. so we did. We’ll call you back in an hour.”

“Exactly one hour passes. The phone rings. We are trying to locate your package. We’ll call you as soon as we have found it”.

Never mind me dear. I’ve got all day to wait.

I spend my life waiting, my middle name should have been Estragon.