As soon as people start queuing, I give them a wide berth. What seems to exert a magical attraction on others is pure torture for me.
As many people as cars in front of the Gotthard
Patience is a virtue I do not possess
You might argue that I'm missing out on a lot in life because I don't feel like queuing. That I'm never confronted with culinary superlatives. Maybe so. Maybe my behaviour is defiant and stupid. But if I have to queue for hours to get my hands on the best ice cream in town, I'll lose my appetite before I've even tasted it.
My life in a nutshell? On a quest to broaden my horizon. I love discovering and learning new skills and I see a chance to experience something new in everything – be it travelling, reading, cooking, movies or DIY.
Opinion
This is a subjective opinion of the editorial team. It doesn't necessarily reflect the position of the company.
I look at my watch. Only a minute has passed. That can't be right. I've probably been standing here for ten. I take out my mobile, check my social media. I'm bored, put my mobile away again. I watch the people around me, try to soak up the sounds, find my inner centre. No chance, I'm restless and impatient. There are twenty people in front of me with the same destination as me: the supermarket. The weekly shop has to be done. So I wait, slightly grumpy, until it's my turn.
During the lockdown, I suddenly found myself confronted with a situation that I normally avoid: queuing. What is a sign of quality for others is a sign for me to move on. I have no patience, nor do I feel any kind of anticipation when I think about queuing for two hours for a scoop of ice cream. No gelato in the world is so great that it would justify waiting forever in the blazing sun. In 120 minutes, I could watch a film (okay, maybe not one by Lav Diaz), watch a football match in the stadium or take the TGV from Basel to Dijon - and with air conditioning to boot. Anything is much better than waiting in a single file line the length of the Gotthard traffic jam on Easter weekend for an ice cream or, even worse, a bubble tea. The drink, which is reminiscent of frog spawn, seemed to have passed its zenith for me years ago. A new shop in Wiedikon is currently proving me wrong.
Unless I'm in the middle of a theme park or a pandemic, I encounter queues, especially in front of catering establishments. As soon as any influencer posts an Insta picture of the establishment with the hashtag #foodporn, followers start running before the post has even been sent. Great for the pub's sales, not so great for me. The moment there are more than five people outside the door, I declare the place a personal no-go area and support less hyped restaurateurs in my neighbourhood. A living culture of equal opportunities.
Swiss people queue so often that I sometimes wonder if it's a national sport. Whether it's for the river baths in the city or bike trails in the mountains, it looks like a caravan of pilgrims is travelling through the country. Even at the airport, before boarding even begins, half of the passengers are already lined up as if they could secure the best seat. Queues seem to attract people like moths to a flame. This may be due to normative social influence or a certain inability to think critically. Or many people effectively enjoy queuing - as incomprehensible as I find that.
