I was in line yesterday at Starbucks. The guy in front of me was discovering his nose. I can see doing that while driving, maybe, but not at a place where food and beverages are served. I don’t like lines unless they are friendly. I don’t like people who cut in front, feigning ignorance that there was a queue. I don’t like lines with a problem customer—either the credit card doesn’t work, or they have disagreed with the price and want the entire operation audited. I don’t like it when the person in front of me gets a phone call that requires a conversation be at decibels that violate OSHA standards. I don’t like it when, after a long wait, the person in front of me suddenly draws a blank on what to order and this is especially bad when it is the person who was yelling into the cell phone. But, mostly, I don’t like people who discover their nose while waiting in line.
For balance’s sake, here’s the one time I loved waiting in line. It occurred decades ago when I had 15 minutes left to serve in the U.S. Army. The final act of conscripted service was signing for a bundle of cash, the last paycheck. It was a long line but almost everyone was pumped up—freedom was a parking lot away. I saw a few people I hadn’t seen since basic training, two years prior. We talked but really didn’t listen—too much riding on the getaway. I threw $1,100 on the passenger seat as if I’d just robbed a bank. A few minutes later I was breaking the speed limit.
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