The Art of Queuing

It has become apparent over the past few months of entertaining the public in a service based medium that the art of queuing is fast becoming one of those lost skills that the British claim to be great and mighty at but are in fact borderline rubbish at. Like football, making cars, and drinking.

It was once considered the world’s capital of queuing finesse and revered the globe over for its ability to self-organise an efficient order of standing when patiently waiting. But the UK is quickly becoming yet another country of cajolers, pushers, whingers, and generally bad sports in the queuing environment.

Examples of this travesty over traditional values can be seen in the workplace, committed by stubborn members of the public standing at the wrong end of the queue direction pointers so as to “not have to walk all the way down, just to come back again” when they’re called over. This is an impressive bout of laziness from a nation that once marched the length of Africa simply in the name of the ruling Monarch. If asked to move to the correct end of the queuing lane, it is common practise for the offending patron to “tut” and “twitter” to a volume high enough that they believe the entire room is aware of the plight we are inflicting upon them, yet low enough that no audible verses are coherent, thus maintaining the guise of kindly aged citizens.

Further evidence of “miss-queuing” can be found when waiting for the ever controversial auto-bus carriage to transport the lingering masses back to their intended homesteads. Why is it imperative that as the vehicle approaches the gathering group simultaneously takes three steps forward? Is this the notice the driver requires to realise that the bus must stop at this, his LAST stop of the line? Or do the expectant passengers live in hope this aggressive move will help to propel them to the forefront of the collective and advance their chances of getting home before Neighbours starts?

Who knows, all I know is that this is a sorry state of affairs and between poor waiting manners and bus stop bombarding I feel less comfortable in partaking in this once grand British pastime and the art of queuing.