Crossing The Line? How About Moving It!
It's as inevitable as the sun rising in the east. If I get in to a line of any kind, that line is sure to stop. Doesn't matter. Grocery store line, bank line, drive through line and the ultimate line waiting horror, the bank drive through line. If I'm in it, it will come to a stop.
Being an introvert with a tendency towards claustrophobia, this can present a challenge.
Several decades ago I had to register for classes at the beginning of a semester up at what was then Ricks College. Keep in mind that at the time there was no such thing as on line registration, or even computers in day to day use at the time. You had to stand in line and see if there were any openings in the class you wanted (or needed) to take. A line for every class.
I honestly thought I was going to age out and die during the process.
And by the way, lest you think I'm placing blame on this on those who are trying to move the lines along, that's not the case.
It's generally the person in front of me in line that is always so painfully slow. As if time has forgotten the art of swift progression, these individuals seem to be in their own dimension, moving at a glacial pace, impervious to the collective groans behind them. It's as if they can't make a choice, or change their minds several times or seem baffled by the entire concept that they need to take some kind of action.
Pull in to a drive through at your favorite restaurant and end up behind a van full kids? That'll be an hour, thank you. In the line at the grocery store and someone ahead of you pulls out a change purse? You might consider asking for residency.
But while I have been waiting in lines, I have lots of time to think of reasons of why people in front of me seem to always be moving at a speed that a tortoise would be jealous of.
Perhaps the slowpoke in line is an undiscovered master in the ancient art of dilly-dallying. While the rest of us are in a hurry to complete our errands and conquer the world, they have embraced the snail's pace as a form of profound meditation. In their zen-like state, they find tranquility in standing motionless, unburdened by the weight of urgency that afflicts mere mortals. Oh, how envious we should be of their mastery in the unhurried arts!
Is it possible that the slow one has discovered a time warp in the queue? Within their seemingly innocent grasp of a shopping cart lies a hidden rift in the space-time continuum, pulling them into an alternate dimension where time flows at a languid pace. As we tap our feet impatiently, they journey through lifetimes, exploring the cosmos within the confines of a supermarket aisle.
Or maybe the person ahead is not just slow, but an undercover life coach tasked with enlightening us all about the virtues of patience. They have been strategically placed by some divine intervention to force us into a profound spiritual reflection on the meaning of time. With every passing second, they present an opportunity for us to ponder the essence of existence and to rise above the trivialities of life's rat race.
It is entirely plausible that the slow-moving individual is a secret agent working for a clandestine organization aimed at testing humanity's threshold for frustration. Their mission is to observe our reactions, studying how our faces contort, and how our eyes roll as seconds turn to minutes. Our vexation fuels their sinister purpose, providing valuable data on the human condition in the face of inescapable sluggishness.
Consider the possibility that the person in front is, in fact, a brilliant Zen master, masquerading as an ordinary person. Their slow pace is a hidden teaching—a metaphorical mirror reflecting our own impatience and reminding us to embrace the present moment. In their stoic silence, they challenge us to confront the restlessness within ourselves and to find peace amid the chaos of the checkout line.
I'm sure I'll never uncover the true reason for the perpetual slowness of the person in front of me. But their presence does enrich my life with comical frustration, philosophical contemplation, and a shared moment of exasperated unity among fellow line-waiters.
So it's best for me just to sit back and enjoy the parade of life as it passes by. Of course, I'll be in the back.