America.
Land of the free, home of long lines.
It's kind of nice when the 30-person-deep line at the only open cash register at the store is full of college-aged people. Takes some pressure off the fact that you're waiting in line at 11 p.m. with groceries. Ah, the glamorous lives of busy, broke twenty-somethings.
Of course, if I were being paid a million dollars and lived in a beach bungalow with two Porsches in the driveway (which is the current daydream), I'd still do that. And probably still have to wait in line for the only open register.
Waiting in line is the great equalizer of people. It doesn't matter if you're living in the messy capitalist "democratic republic" like we are, a vicious militarized dictatorship, or an unstructured open-border free-range commune, waiting in line makes everyone equal.
Doesn't matter if you're short or tall, big or small, black or white or red or purple... or if you have limbs and skin tone at all. You wait in line with -- and just like -- everyone else. Lines don't care. Lines are meant to organize, to classify, to check-and-balance and, in some ways, to oppress.
It could be argued that waiting in line wastes your time, which is your most precious commodity and social currency as a human. Whoever controls the line controls your life, and subsequently determines the outcome of both. Herding of the masses into a cashier stockade, if you will.
Wouldn't it behoove you to be first in line, then? Sure, but it won't happen every time, so don't worry about it. (I'm sure classical philosophers have talked about this very idea on a deeper level.) Everyone will be subjected to being last in line at some point; best have a good waiting face.
"Life is a series of transitions." Make waiting in line interesting, if possible. If not, then I guess playing Tetris is okay. But don't dare cut in line -- it is a rude and crude gesture of greed and impatience.
It is nice, however, when there's a cute person standing behind you. Idle chatter is aided considerably by physical attraction. In other words, yes, tell me more about running out of mac-and-cheese and paper towels (or, rather, realizing that you were out of those things and figured, what the heck, might as well go get them now; who could possibly be out shopping this late?)
I will continue to casually listen, while silently hoping that you don't judge me for what's in my cart. I'm a bachelor, can't you tell by my groceries?
Oh, you're buying stuff like that too? Do you want to get married later today? After waiting in line?
You had me at "Kraft Instant Mac-and-Cheese."
