I hate waiting. I hate it with a passion.
I will happily take my bike across town to my job, even though it takes longer, because I don’t like waiting for trains and busses, and despise waiting for other people to get on or off them.
I will take the stairs, no matter how many steps there are, instead of standing in that blob of people that collects in front of an escalator.
I will not wait for food if there is a long line, and I don’t care how bloody good the place is supposed to be. I will just go elsewhere, because it’s not worth it.
And I would not, in my wildest dreams, stand in line for a product on the day of its release, when I could just stroll into a shop a few days later and get it with no fuss. Seriously, what’s the fucking point of that?
Today I went to my nice local shop and stood in line holding a bag of potatoes. There were two people serving but they were both taken up with various tasks at the deli counter. And then they started to natter with the people they were serving, ignoring the long line building up behind.
I gave it five minutes, and then I put the items back and I left. Life is too short to be stomping your feet and being all grumbly in a queue. And maybe the staff will get the hint – next time, serve the scowling Irishman quickly.
Or maybe they’ll just add me to the “dangerous lunatics” list, tape up my photo behind the counter and never let me in again. I just hate it when that happens.