Standing in Line

Standing in line is a pretty simple concept.

When multiple parties vie for the same transaction simultaneously, but cannot be served simultaneously, they often form a line. Typically, one's placement in line is determined by the time of arrival. That is to say, the party that arrives first is entitled to the first opportunity for transaction. When a transaction is complete, the party just served exits the line, and the opportunity for transaction defaults to the subsequent party. That way, each party moves one place closer to the opportunity for transaction.

Most lines form in a single-file fashion. One party after the other. Sometimes they dart out from one specific focal point and cause obstruction, like the Men's bathroom line at a sports venue during intermission. Sometimes lines wrap around barriers set up by the host institution, like at the popular rides of your favorite amusement park. Other times lines are not really lines, and consist of globs of people who only form a line to adhere to a point of entry, like when the gates open at a Rock concert.

Regardless of the scenario, lines are often respected. Why? Because they create order. That´s right: Line equals order. Order equals line.

On most parts of the planet (keyword: most) the rules are universally known. You get there first. You are first to be served. You get there last. You get your rear-end to the back. There are no buts. There are not cuts. There are no dirty rotten coconuts.


Exhibit A - The Supply Store

I was standing in line at the local libreria with several folders in my hand, and was faced with the typical dilemma: To take the short line where fewer people have more items, or to take the longer line where more people have fewer items. I opted for the one-person wait, and twiddled my thumbs as the woman in front of me cleaned out the store's wrapping paper. Since my patience has blossomed healthily since arriving in this town, I didn't mind the five minute episode, or even the lousy tude of the cashier. But I waited patiently. And gracefully observed the universal law of the line.

As the gift-giver exited the line, an older man, probably in his late 60's, came stumbling forward with a cane. By this point the line behind me had grown to about four people. But the old man didn't seem to care. He marched forward unabashedly and lunged with an outstretched arm, showing-off his itsy-bitsy pen and his 5 Cordoba coin. Apparently, he believed his one item warranted a "violation of line etiquette". Having been in the situation many times before, I left the fate of this man in the hands of the cashier.

She rung him up. No smile. The man exited the line. No apology. And there I was - externally calm, internally livid. Are you kidding me?

But I couldn't tell who irked me more: The culprit or the enabler.


Exhibit B: The Grocery Store

Every day at the grocery store, I wait in the Express Line, designed for five items or fewer. It was just before lunch, during the store's peak hours, when I stepped into the line of ten people. I waited patiently, glanced at the newspaper, and wiped the sweat from my brow. As people stared at me, the Gringo, I stared right back, trying to pass time by playing the staring contest in my own warped mind.

I was two places from the cashier when I saw a 12 year-old school boy strut forward. He was in his school uniform, and looked clean-cut. He juggled two packets of chocolate milk in his hand, and evidently had no intention of waiting his turn. He tried be slick, cutting one person in front of me instead of heading straight to the cashier, but he had stiff competition. Like the moment in the supply store, I sat there quietly, leaving the fate of the violation up to my surrounding Nicaraguan community. This time, we had a few takers, as the older woman behind me showed no fear.

What are you doing? She asked loudly enough so that the entire line could hear.

No response.

Wait in the back! She screamed again.

Again. No response. But since someone else had fired the first shot, I felt secure enough join the party.

You know that´s bad manners. I said in a weak, non-confrontational lecturing voice.

I need to get back to school. He lamely conceded.

Ignoring the woman and refusing to modify his behavior, the boy carried on, and walked up to the cashier shamelessly. The cashier seemed well-aware of what happened, but appeared unfazed. As he took the packets from the kid´s hand and prepared to ring them up, he tossed the chocolate milk to the side in the abandoned item cart.

The kid did not seem surprised. He just smirked. Shrugged his shoulders. He offered no apology. He left the store.

Justice Served. I thought. And Faith Restored!


Exhibit C: The Bus to Matagalpa

Several months ago I took my first bus journey to the Northern Mountains of Nicaragua. It was my first time at the bus stop, el Mayoreo, and I was quite confident in my ability to navigate around the premises. I approached the Matagalpa bus as it was about to depart, took one look inside at the crammed, standing room only, and decided to wait for the next one. 25 minutes...I could manage.

From my initial impressions, I was in great position for my choice of seat. I was one of four people waiting patiently for 25 minutes. As the clock ticked, the people gathered. And it became clear that whatever line had existed amongst the four of us no longer had merit. Instead, it looked like the rock concert scenario, a glob of people prepping for a mad rush to hop on board. I still felt secure though, because I was firmly standing my position where the entry point would supposedly be.

As the bus pulled up to the curb to dock, however, mayhem erupted. Nicaraguans jumped up to the windows and hung on as the bus kept moving. People shoved and shoved with no regard to humankind. I crashed into the woman behind me, almost knocking her down. Most noticeably, my calm demeanor accelerated into a classic fight or flight.

I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. The chaos resembled nothing of civilization. Prison riots, stampedes, and celebrity sitings flashed through my mind. I held my ground, apologized to the woman, and then caved, shoving my way through the crowd so I could get on board.

At one time I was the fourth person in line. And now I was barely getting a seat for my two hour journey.

This is what it would be like without laws.

Conclusion

Do we blame the old man for being a poor role-model? Do we blame the cashier for enabling behavior? Do we applaud the cashier or woman for taking a stand? Do we blame the Mayareo bus station for not having a system? Do we blame the culprits themselves for their violations? Can we even assess blame at all?

These questions, I cannot answer. Trust me, I've tried. But one thing is certain - there are a million reasons and a million interpretations. I know this because I still have mine: Standing in line is a pretty simple concept. But ultimately a concept's simplicity depends on those who live with it to keep it that way.