You have to stand facing the back of the one in front. A few backs may seem massive, like the erstwhile Berlin wall, blocking the view of the goal ahead. Yet some, though reed thin, may oscillate like the moonwalking Michael Jackson, hiding and showing your target on and off. A queuer should demand a unhindered view as a fundamental right.
An Englishman, it is said, even if he is alone, will form an orderly queue of one. Nearer home, such niceties are not considered elegant. Muscle power wins.Consider a place like a post office where senior citizens throng to collect (‘draw’ is the official word) the pension during the first week of a month. With commendable concern, India Post would have provided a special counter for senior citizens.
When I went there last month, the counters were yet to be opened. The young lady manning the senior citizen counter was doing the pre-operational drill like a co-pilot in a cockpit. The LCD display of token numbers was on the blink. So, the service was on first-come-first-served basis. Many pensioners were seated, since standing for long will meet with the disapproval of their knees. They sat, twiddling their thumbs or clutching a goody bag collected during a wedding reception.
The counter was opened. The one wearing a Yale T-shirt, perhaps gifted by his nephew from the domain of Donald Trump, shot up. He ran his eyes over the group and pointed his finger at a green sweater and said, “You should go first, sir.” But the green sweater politely refused, without getting up. “I did enter first,” that Harishchandra said, “But that gentleman with the umbrella paused, standing aside for me to steady as I stumbled. Technically, he entered first.”
I was wonderstuck. Such solicitude! “No sir, you are all wrong. I came first,” said a gentleman with a walking stick. The group was aghast. Such a false claim?
He tittered, his eyes twinkling. “Indeed, I came first before all of you, sirs. That is, I came first into the world. I am 93. None of you may be older than me.”
All the pensioners stood up with respect. “You go first, sir,” they said in chorus. “No, it is not in my hands; nor yours. But in His,” he said looking up. “But here I will follow the virtual queue. It is in your hands, sir,” he said, waving the walking stick at the Yale T-shirt.