I am normally a peaceful sort of person.
I like working in the garden, and taking life in general much as it comes.
But the one thing that annoys me more than anything is having to wait in a queue.
We’ve all done it, and there can be nothing more aggravating.
I really loathe the self-check aisles at supermarkets and refuse to use them, but the queue exists even there as I have seen frustrated people glaring at someone using it with a load of items that need a price check.
Banks now don’t seem to handle money boxes full of coin, but it’s still possible to be held up while the teller deals with the lengthy question of the person in front.
Our local post office is always busy, and it’s necessary to queue, but the other day, after queueing behind nine people, when I finally got to the counter, I found that, since I was sending a gift overseas, I had to take the customs document over to the desk, fill out the form, and move back into the – now even longer – queue to post the parcel.
I’d cheerily left my husband at home, and his question of “why did it take you so long, it was just a parcel,” was greeted with a frown…
Traffic queues can be disastrous, especially on busy highways, and you learn with practice when “Work Ahead” signs are up, it means you are going to run late to your destination.
The best trick is to watch which lane the really big trucks use… they have the best view and the best contacts so follow them!
Of all the queues – the one most hated (and that’s not exaggerating) is the queue on the phone. Usually to a big company, the dreaded “Your call is important to us… You are X in the queue and the next available operator…”
This means a half an hour wait with dreadful repetitive music calculated to make you give up, and I am sure that sometimes the operators just decide to make their life easier by hanging up just as you go to speak…
The only queue that throws me into despair, even more than the one where I am sitting in the dentist waiting room, is the one at sporting events, where the queue to the ladies’ toilets is always terrifyingly long.
Men are better organised – or designed – and flit in and out quickly. Ladies not so, and often have a child with them, which means they both need to go, and it’s really necessary to think of other things and hope no one turns on a tap.
So I have come to the conclusion that, in the great queue of life, if I ever get to the Pearly Gates, Saint Peter will have a queue in front of me with someone arguing with him about the price of angel wings, or he will have to send someone to look for the book so he can sign me in.
Yes, that’s me, but surely I can’t be the only one. If you are stuck in a queue and see me, let’s chat. Then it won’t be a total waste of time.
