Apparently we Brits have lost our love of queuing, according to a survey by GifGaf. As with many of these surveys, they are stating the obvious.
In a “fair” world, all queues would be equal. You could pick any queue in a supermarket and know that it will move at exactly the same rate as any of the other checkout queues. However, Tesco’s Law states that any selected queue will, as soon as it has been joined, become the slowest moving of all. You will wait, patiently at first (or at least for the first six and a half minutes according to the survey), as the checkout operator becomes slower and slower in her movements, as though on a film that is being played in slow motion... The person in front of you eventually gets to the start of the conveyor belt – great! Nearly there.... but... oh no... she is on her own, and she is about a hundred and two years of age. She is lifting each item out of her trolley v...e...r...y..... s....l...o...w...l...y.... and placing it c...a...r...e...f...u...l...l...y... on the belt. The operator slows down further as the scanned articles begin to build up in a huge pile at the other end of the conveyor. You begin to wonder if you are not actually in a real-life scenario, but part of a still photograph, such is the lack of movement from all around you. You realise that all the effort is still going into unloading the trolley onto the conveyor belt. The items scanned by the hapless checkout operator are building up into a food mountain at the other end of the belt. You glance across at the other checkout queues and catch a glimpse of the couple that were in the queue behind you for a while before queue-switching. The lady is putting the final shopping bag into the trolley whilst the man is swiping his credit card in the machine. You consider a queue-switch, but know, in your heart of hearts, that any such move would only result in a replay of the current situation.
Finally, in desperation, you offer to help with unloading the remainder of the trolley contents. You probably should have offered earlier, but you were too busy wallowing in self-pity and the “here-we-go-again” thoughts that had taken over, forcing any sense of reason out of the window. “Let me help you unload, whilst you start to pack”, you offer, with particular emphasis on the last word, less the customer should decide to start chatting to the checkout assistant about the fact that there hadn’t been any loose carrots available on the shelves, and she had had to take a packet of pre-packed ones which were much more expensive, and they were organic as well, which was ridiculous because we never used to have to pay extra to have things grown without chemicals, blah, blah, blah... Expecting a smile and, perhaps, a little word of thanks, you are a little taken aback when she looks at you as though you have just swiped the last of the 2-for-1 Spam offer from the shelf in front of her nose! However, she shuffles along to the other end of the checkout and, very slowly, starts to place the items in her shopping bag, with the complete lack of any urgency that comes with the knowledge that you have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, and the longer the supermarket experience can be drawn out, the longer it will be before you have to get home to your miserable git of a husband who has sat at home all afternoon watching TV and waiting for your return home to make him a cup of tea...
