Picking the wrong line
I’m good at some things — like making a paper projectile out of a straw’s wrapper, swatting a fly with one targeted strike, and quoting lines from reruns of sitcoms. Thanks to excellent teachers, I also have a few academic skills, like knowing when to use “who” or “whom” in any given sentence and where apostrophes should and shouldn’t be.
But I know my limitations. And if you see me at a grocery or retail store, you should walk the other way. Because I can promise you that once it’s time to choose a check-out lane, I’ll pick the wrong one — every single time.
I don’t do it on purpose. I try to find the best option by slowly cruising past each check-out lane while evaluating the possible wait time. I count the number of people already standing there and watch to see if the clerk looks speedy or is walking that thin line between slow and slower. I avoid any check-out lane with its light flashing because that’s a sure sign of delay. Yet even after all that analysis, a faulty instinct deep inside my overthinking brain gravitates toward what becomes a long line to nowhere.
Have you seen this line? Stood in this line? Asked, “Why me, God” in this line? If you answered yes to all three questions, there’s a good chance I was in that line, too.
When I’m not in a hurry, waiting doesn’t bother me. It’s a chance to people-watch or pop in an earbud to listen to a podcast. But if I’m pressed for time and the line suddenly stalls, I get reckless and start looking for something better.
A few lanes over, I spot what appears to be a shorter, faster line, and I’m so tempted to go for it. But I hesitate to make that move because I’ve already invested time in the current line — a phenomenon known as the “sunk cost fallacy.” We humans feel reluctant to change course even when it’s clear that switching would probably be better.
If I’m running late, need to pee, or just feel lucky, I step out of the snail-paced line and zip over to the shorter one. Occasionally, it works, and I congratulate myself on laying it all on the line like a champion. But often, the universe punishes me for not toeing the line with my first choice. Suddenly, the customer in front of me needs a price check. Or the cash register runs out of receipt paper. Or there’s a complicated discussion about a sale price that didn’t ring up correctly. A manager has to be called over, and that’s when I know it’s happening. My line has become a sea of not-so-quicksand.
I glance back at my previous line and see that it magically sped up right after I abandoned it and fell for the new one hook, line and sinker.
But I’ve learned a few lessons while waiting in lines, and the most important one is to keep your head up. You have to scan the entire check-out area to watch for employees who might be managers — people whose jobs are on the line if customers get cranky. When you spot one, you need to make eye contact so they see that you’re stuck there. Use your eyes to plead for help.
Sometimes the managers look away and pretend they don’t see you. But now and then, a good one will throw you a lifeline. They open a new lane, wave you over, and you race toward the newly opened lane with joy and thanksgiving.
Just like in any high-traffic situation, another shopper might spot that lane opening and swoop in front of you. Sometimes it’s accidental, and they don’t realize you’ve been languishing in a stalled line. They don’t know that your pitiful, pleading eyes triggered this new lane opening in the first place.
But sometimes, the person fully knows they’re cutting you off, and they don’t care. If this happens, breathe deeply and assume the line-cutter is on the verge of violent diarrhea. They’re trying to get out of the store before it hits. This line of thinking will help you avoid an interaction that could escalate into retail road rage, which would be recorded by nearby smartphones and live forever on YouTube.
No matter how many bad Christmas songs we have to hear while standing in lines, we’ll all make it out of there — eventually. The finish line is in sight. In the meantime, be gracious to your fellow shoppers in the slow lane because kindness still matters. And that, dear readers, is the bottom line.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.
