(In transference, one always waits—at the doctor’s, the professor’s, the analyst’s. Further, if I am waiting at a bank window, an airport ticket counter, I immediately establish an aggressive link with the teller, the stewardess, whose indifference unmasks and irritates my subjection; so that one might say that wherever there is waiting there is transference: I depend on a presence which is shared and requires time to be bestowed—as if it were a question of lowering my desire, lessening my need. To make someone wait: the constant prerogative of all power, “age-old pastime of humanity.”)

Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments