One of my fears, when I moved back home from DC to my minuscule hometown in a sparsely populated region of California, was that I’d lose what I consider an important modern survival skill: the ability to wait in line politely, or as the British put it, to queue.
There were ample opportunities to queue in DC, including getting on or off on the subway, checking out at Trader Joe’s, or acquiring the latest novelty food item, like an (inspired) sushi burrito, or a (disappointing) cronut. I waited in grimy ballet flats that lacked arch support for endurance, or if I wanted to build up my tolerance for pain, in heels. Sometimes waiting made me cry, or want to. One sweltering afternoon I sat for three hours in rush-hour traffic in my 1999 Honda, sans air conditioner. I’m pretty sure I still have an imprint on my forehead from slamming it against the steering wheel in frustration. But waiting also made me more resourceful. (After that, I never drove in a DC heatwave without a thermos full of ice cubes.)
Queuing is a scientific discipline unto itself, I recently learned. The field was born in early 20th century Denmark from the need to configure early telephone switchboards to avoid long delays. Scientists have since applied mathematical models of queuing to 911 response time, the wait for an organ, and the number of times you hear “Please wait, your call is important to us” before a actual customer service representative picks up the phone. When a huge snowstorm knocks out power for thousands of people, it’s a mathematical model–rather than a system of “first-come, first served” –that typically decides whose power lines get fixed first.
But when it comes to how lines function, our feelings about them matter at least as much as the equations. (See: Black Friday stampedes that suffocate people to death.) Waiting can be celebratory, as when people gather to enjoy cronuts, but feelings of anxiety, uncertainty, unfairness, and being alone make a wait seem longer, more difficult to bear.
Distractions can help: I like to try to pick one thing I like or approve of for every person in the queue. One day a little girl’s crystal jelly sandals caught my attention. On another day, I decided that I liked an old man’s long, silvery ear hairs. Some people are harder to like than others, but that just adds to the reward of finding someting about them, even the tiniest something, endearing.
It’s hard to sustain that kind of tenderness for strangers–especially when people queue badly. Last week, a man failed to wait his turn in the flow of commuter traffic, running my sister and two other cars off the road. She’s fine, thank God (and he’s in jail for drunk driving) but her car is totaled.
Queuing nerds generally want to reduce the time we spend in line–for example, by creating apps that eliminate wait times and delays. I think that’s a great idea, especially for people seeking asylum, housing, mental health care, vaccines, etc… and we might as well toss in the services of the DMV, IRS, and other government agencies while we’re at it, yes? But I’m not entirely convinced we should eliminate the friction and strain of waiting… just… a little…longer…for every consumer. Like all skills, I think the capacity to wait in line takes practice. If we don’t practice it, we risk losing it.
*I’m curious, dear readers of LWON: What are you willing to wait in line for? And for how long?
Waiting to check out when buying a book. As long as it takes to read the book.
Yes, that’s a good one. Reading in line?
Thanks for these thoughts, Emily. The most interesting example of queuing I’ve seen in the past few months involves a handful of kids ages six and under and a swing made out of simple board attached to a single rope looped around a tree limb. I was at my sons’ forest school as an occasional helper, and as the kids started calling out, “I’m next,” and “my turn,” I just watched. Would they all start tugging and pulling at the swing? Pushing each other down? Not quite. Would the teachers institute a one-minute policy, setting a strict limit for the length of each turn? No, absolutely not. The kids were told to express their wish for a turn and wait. And, to wait for an indefinite period of time while each kid on the swing had their fill. What I noticed is that some kids swung for a really long time. Some kids took a modest turn, and delighted in shouting “I’m done.” Some were praised for being good sharers. The kid who said, “Of course you can have a turn … after I’m done,” prompted a small smile in the teacher on a somewhat distant hill to joke to another teacher, “Carson’s so wise.” Most of the time it worked, and all seemed to learn something from the act of wanting and waiting and watching the others.
Rachel, I love this description. Thank you!
Unless it involves waiting related to an urgent issue involving my youngest daughter or two grandsons (the anxiety is a challenge, but still survivable), I am amenable to any kind of waiting. I, too, can always find something(s) on which to focus my attention. I do not go with a need to find something/someone to like to focus on, instead pick a facet of whatever is around me that is unique, different, unusual. It could range from a crack in a wall or sidewalk, to a person’s apparel or manner of talking or gestures, to available flora or fauna, to focusing within (I figure I can always come up with some curious or odd thought or personal habit that could use some focused attention and wonderment). As far as I know, the two hours I may be in queue is just as long as the two hours I might spend at work or traveling somewhere or playing frisbee or sleeping. The waiting just provides a chance to mix up my other usual routines and distractions.
This sounds like an excellent way to wait, and live, David.
Thanks, Emily. At a time when pandemic-related waiting and patience are needed, this is so relevant. It seems like there is a cultural component to waiting in line too. Once, at a ski area that crossed an international border, I noticed skiers lined up and calmly waited for the chairlift in one country. In the other country, lift lines were a chaotic jumble with people standing on each other’s skis, always on a lookout for a chance to jump ahead. (I shall avoid naming the countries so as to not cause an international incident.)
Thank you Lisa! Traveling can be such a good lesson in different kinds of waiting, and who has to wait for what. As I wrote this I wondered what the longest line in the world is at this very moment (perhaps the wait for vaccines?), and about the longest line in history… another post, maybe.
Thanks Emily.
I’ve lived in the UK, Holland, New Jersey, and now on an island in Puget Sound. My parents lived through WWII in the UK, when you joined a queue first and then asked what is was for. I learned as a child that jumping the queue was the eighth deadly sin, and that losing your place in it was the ninth.
Fast forward to New Jersey, where the rule was to never make eye contact. Where drivers would follow a lane closure to the very last cone and then lean on the horn till someone blinked.
And now to a ferry island, where minor traffic jams occur at 4 way stops as two drivers insist the other go first.
What do I queue for? Well, the ferry of course. But it’s worth it.
Beautiful, John! The ferry does sound well worth waiting for. Thanks for reading.