When you pace up and down aisles for four and a half hours drinking horrid coffee and watching disheveled, fidgety, sniffling adolescents go through that wonderful right of passage known as the SAT, that’s tedium.
When you drive a school bus to an event at the crack of dawn or in the dead of night for hours on end and all the other passengers, including your fellow coaches, are fast asleep, that’s tedium.
When there is nothing else on the television and you find yourself zoning out to either the swing of various irons and dimpled balls or race cars zooming around and around and around oil slicked tracks, that’s tedium.
When you set out on an eight hour road trip and within the first two hours find yourself in that unfortunate situation in which the only thing that seems to mollify your infant daughter is a continuously repeating CD of Barney’s greatest hits, that’s tedium.
When you are laid up in bed because of sickness or injury and the world just passes you right on by with out a care, that’s tedium.
When inclement weather (translation: raining and flooding in Houston) keeps you in-doors and you can think of nothing innovative or inventive to bide the time, that’s tedium.
When you grade essay after essay after essay full of grammatical errors, plot summary, and a general absence of originality (i.e. regurgitating class notes), that’s tedium.
When you wait in line at the DPS (Department of Public Safety) for your driver’s license for what seems like an eternity, that’s tedium.
When you wait for a table at a popular restaurant for forty-five minutes packed like sardines in the exceedingly small foyer and your child won’t behave, that’s tedium.
When you attend Mass in the baby room and hear hardly anything because of the chatter and uncontrolled play of both the children and the other adults in the room, that’s tedium.
When you are stuck in an airport or at a bus stop for a longer than anticipated layover twiddling your thumbs or reading some paparazzi rag, that’s tedium.
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