One of my favourite Christmas songs (yes, I do have a few) is the “12 Pains of Christmas”. It always amazed me though, how they don’t mention the inevitable queues right before and right after Christmas. Queues are a tradition of their own, with rules, customs and code of conduct that appear incomprehensible to the outsider. Personally, as long as I’m not in a hurry, I find them hilarious. The things you overhear, the looks you get, especially around this time of the year! I’ve already finished my Christmas shopping and there is something very satisfying about standing in a queue at Tesco with only a milk while everyone else in the line is loaded up their ears with Christmas stuff. The expression “plan ahead” was hardly ever more apt.
There is only one kind of queue that I don’t care for. The one that forms in bus stops, especially when the bus is late. Especially at this time of the year. IT’S BLOODY FREEZING! The last thing you want (if you have my tendency to stuff your bag full of books) is to wait ten minutes out of the bus while somebody in the bus is taking their sweet time counting change. Have it ready jackass! Or get a pass! Some of us are freezing our toes off.
What’s your worst kind of queue? Or are they all just plain horrible?
It was cold, it was wet, and I wanted to punch someone. So….a typical Monday morning. The mist curled around my ankles as I leaned tiredly against the bus stop, like wet fingers crawling up my spine. Yawn after half-formed yawn I shook myself. Staying up late last night had not been a good idea but the alternative -an eight-hour roller coaster of nightmares- didn’t sound very inviting either. A shiver ran through my spine as it started to actually rain and the shadows of the nearby trees lengthened sinisterly. Great! Just what I needed! I’m running late for my class and now I’m to have an encounter with a semi-immortal being with a shtick for showy entrances before my first cup of coffee.
“I swear, whoever-you-are, if you so much as materialise a finger, I will bind you in a circle and hit you with my bag.”
I let said bag fall to the ground with an impressive THUD. The shadows shrink back to their proper place hastily and I smirk. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Nothing like the comforting wight of Shakespeare’s Complete Works to make a girl feel safe…
Ringing and rattling
The motorbikes go by,
And on the cosy-warm
Cement seat, here
On the pavement side,
I wait for my ride
To finally arrive.