Story Time: Line Cutters

Do you like waiting in line? No, you don’t. I hate it too. It sucks. I will really only wait in a line if the thing being offered at the end of the line is worth my precious time. I usually do a quick calculation. It is a simple formula I created back when I was failing math classes in school: 

People X Estimated Wait Time X Product at the end of the line X Other Similar Products Available Nearby = Y/N

I’ve been known to turn away many a line.

“Oh, I’ll come back when the line dies down,” I’ve said.

We must all admit, the line eventually dies down. 

Here’s a story that does not have to do with the length of a line. It is a story about the line variable that you cannot account for in the initial calculation. We’re talking about a line cutter. 

I had just finished a lovely round of golf with a pal of mine. We decided to treat ourselves to a pizza pie on the way home. Awesome, good plan. We called the pizza people in the car, and after being slapped on an extensive hold, we ordered. The man on the other end of the line told us it would be about a 30 minute wait. Fine. Good. We were about 10 minutes away. Maybe we would sit down for a casual beveragino before our pie was ready. Good plan. 

We walk into the pizza joint. There were a few patrons in front of us. Fine. We’ll wait for our turn. The line moves up. We’re up next. The door opens behind us. An older couple walks in. They were probably 63 years old. Old enough to know their way around the universe, or so we thought. I was minding my own business, checking out the pile of pizza boxes and other exciting things to look at over my right shoulder. When I turned around, the couple had nudged their way slightly in front of us. Okay. Fine. This can be salvaged. I nudged my way forward. 

Meanwhile, another person (sorry, not person, moron works better) in front of us was acting like it was his first time asking for something in his life. 

“Whats on the Margarita pizza,” the moron said.

“It’s basically a typical Margarita,” the man taking orders and working the phones said. 

“Ok. How many kinds of mushrooms are on this mushroom one?” the moron said again. 

“Uh, not sure. Doesn’t it list them off there on the menu? ” the pizza man said.

What a disaster. But this was only the beginning of our downfall.

The moron finally finished up his conversation that included more questions than a bachelorette party in an uber. We were next in line, technically speaking. But by this point, the old couple had gone past the nudging stage and into the full blown line cutting stage. I was distraught. What happened next could never be fictionalized. 

“What can I do for you guys,” says the man behind the counter, to me. 

“Yeah we called in a pizza, we were wondering if we could grab a beer while we wait,” I said, calmly.

“Definitely, let me just help these folks here,” pointing at the old couple, “because they were here first, then I’ll get you guys”.

I was perplexed. I mean what the actual fuck. I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. Why did the guy ask me what I needed and then go to the line cutters? I’m a staunch anti-cutting activist. But apparently I didn’t have it in me to stand for what I believe in at that moment. I was frozen in time while the old assholes ordered their brussel sprout bullshit pizza and grabbed two ice teas from the cooler. 

Folks, I wish this was the end of the story. 

We finally got served two frosty fucking pints and were told they would bring our pizza out when it was ready. Perfect. See you then. 

We found a table outside and made fun of people driving down main street. We didn’t heckle them, just quietly acknowledged what was wrong with them. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the line cutters. We even saw them at a nearby table. Smiling and enjoying themselves. Oblivious to the turmoil they had caused. I hated them. 

The beer tasted good and disappeared soon enough but it had been at least 15 minutes. Then it was 20 minutes. We discussed what our next move was. We should go see what the hell is up with our pizza and return the glasses. Perfect. 

We walk in and luckily there is nobody in line. Phew-ie. The pizza man acted like he had never seen me before in his life. 

“Hi can I help you?” he says. 

“Yeah, is our pizza ready? I’m returning these glasses too.” I say. I could have said so much more. But apparently, I am a loser. 

“What was the name?”

“howiehottakes.com.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. HotTakes. Let me check.”

This guy went over to a little table with those pizza warming bags and peels through it until he found ours. 

“Yup! Here it is guys. Have a great night,” the pizza man said. 

“You too,” I mumbled in complete despair. 

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That is the end of the story. Don’t cut in line. Do you think you’re better than everyone else?

What would you have done in that scenario? Tell the old couple to kick rocks? Tell the pizza man to open his eyes? Or, would you do whatever the hell I did?

Stay curious.