I Hate Your Line Lingering
As you get older, your brain grows in size. I'm pretty sure this is a fact...
Okay, probably not. But I feel like my brain has grown since I was 21, because when I was 21, I was mildly retarded. Back then I thought eating cans of Chef Boyardee's Beefaroni (not kidding) was a sufficient way for me to get all of my vitamins. Again, I was mildly retarded. But regardless, I've learned, as I've grown and matured, that time is of the essence. You see, dear children, we don't get any more of it. Ohhhh, cryptic! But it's true. And when people take their sweet-fucking-time ordering a salad, I want to splash hot grease in their face, because they are taking minutes away from my life. We will call them line lingerers. And we will treat them like the one-legged lady at the dance - WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.
Every day I go and get a salad at Hale & Hearty because I'm getting fat, and I actually have the brain power now, as a desk jockey pushing 30, to realize that if I don't stop shoving Lenny's Buffalo Chicken sandwiches into my fucking face, I am going to develop Diabetes. So I go get salads now. Only, I have to bring a book with me to keep me company*. Not a magazine, not a goddamn newspaper, a novel, because it takes so fucking long for people to order. These idiots stand there at the sneeze guard, in complete awe, looking like they've just discovered the Holy Grail in their kitchen cabinet. LOOK, RADISHES! I mean, you would think that these people have never seen a salad bar before. And judging by some of their shrunken faces and the girth of their sumo guts, maybe they haven't. But that's still no excuse for them to take twenty minutes to decide on a salad dressing. You are obese, you want Ranch, stop pretending you want the Low-Fat Ginger Carrot!
And line lingering is definitely not restricted to just the food service industry. How about movie theaters? Ever been stuck on a box office line three seconds before the movie you want to see begins because your brain is too warped from playing "Call of Duty" to accurately estimate the amount of time it takes to get to the theater, and you're waiting behind two fucking dummies who are asking the clerk WHICH MOVIE HE RECOMMENDS??? Who the fuck in their right mind goes to the movies and doesn't know what he/she wants to see? I find out movies are coming out five years from now and immediately plan a weekend around it.
Me: Sin City 3 is listed as "in production" - better clear Memorial Day weekend 2015, baby.
Wife: Uhh, No. Absolutely not. We actually have plans, anyway.
But no, not Mr. and Mrs. Fucking Oblivious, they like to play it by ear. Hey, honey, let's throw on our jean shorts and our Caldor hats and go over to the multiplex and ask one of the young men or women working there what kind of movies he/she enjoys watching, and then we'll decide that way, because everyone who works at the movie theater is super-helpful and seems to give a shit about enjoying movies and not spitting in our popcorn, and we don't have a brain of our own because we're too busy worrying about a stupid work email we need to craft and whether or not our son is gay because he sings along to Snow Patrol when he thinks no one is watching (hint: he is).
Also, escalators. Although I do realize I'm not waiting in a line for anything, I thought I would mention them here, because people that stand idle on escalators are lucky that they don't get a boot to the ass and/or spine. WALK. This is not Six Flags - YOU WALK ON THESE MOVING STAIRS. These stairs are moving because this is a high-traffic area and its purpose is to move you along, not for you to lounge like a fucking drunk at a strip-club. And you two, yes, the two of you Gussies, chatting and giggling the day away like you're on line for your meds at the home - GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY. You can stand to the right if you want, but do not block both sides. Oh, I'm sorry, you are from Europe and do not understand that American's have high blood pressure and are always working and going full-speed until our eventual heart-attack and rediscovered zest for life even though it's too late? Well, then I'll just have to lower my shoulder and Lorenzo Neal your fucking skinny body out of my way. USA USA USA!
(wondering why everyone hates America)
I also can't stand waiting for a cashier at Best Buy because the idiot in front of me has decided to ask the clerk for tech support on their fucking time machine/hair dryer. Really? Really? Do you think this guy knows how to fucking rewire your blackberry so it plays "Alejandro" every time you alarm clock goes off? Let's be honest here, this guy looks like he has trouble remembering to put his shoes on after his pants, and you want him to explain how a iPad works?
Nowhere is line lingering and/or clogging more prevalent than at sporting events. People will get up to the front of the line and, after each item they order is delivered to them, they will order more. And more. And more. And then they will need a box to carry shit, and one of those trays for their 18 beers. Only the cashier doesn't have anymore boxes, and so the person gets pissed. Then they yell at these poor bastards making $3.50 a day, and berate them, all because they are gluttons and needed 7 sausage and pepper rolls. Who the fuck goes up solo to order all that shit? You deserve to be speared through the eye socket for overestimating your ability to carry shit, or for not thinking about it at all while everyone waiting on you misses a grand slam or some other cool shit that will make me hate you until the end of time. And guess what else is happening behind you? I die of thirst. Me, I'm dead. Good job, random asshole, I am now dead because you suck.
*Editor's Note: I actually do this - I actually bring a book with me. People probably think I'm going to take a two-hour dump, but I don't really care. So, the other day I got on the elevator with some dude who works on my floor but I don't know his name, and he says to me, "Must be a good book." I replied, "It's pretty good, but I carry it around because the line at H&H takes forever and I can't stand waiting and doing nothing." He responds, "I wish I had time to read. I'm unfortunately addicted to this thing." He proceeded to hold up his blackberry. It killed me. If I had a pair, I would have bashed him over the head with it and bought him a gift card to Barnes & Noble.