The Distance One Keeps

Dec 5 2019

The line shuffles along

in starts and stops,

small spurts of progress, lurching ahead

then an inexplicable pause.

People drift-in out of nowhere

attaching to its tail end

and wordlessly assembling,

the line rapidly lengthening

as if summoned into being.

Like a proto-planet

under its own gravity,

spontaneously coalescing

from cosmic debris.

So I soon find myself

roughly in the middle

being shuffled along,

unreasonably smug

to have locked-down this spot.

There are the rules of etiquette

that are clearly understood.

The distance one keeps.

No cutting-in

or getting pushy.

And when holding a spot

for late arrivals

that cold penetrating glare

from those standing behind,

the stink-eye

of polite company.

You might strike up a conversation

with the people nearby;

something anodyne, like the weather,

or how unexpected the wait.

The familiarity

of forced proximity,

the fellow feeling

of shared misery

anticipation

our need to connect.

How gracious we are

with strangers

we will never see again,

taking our place

keeping pace

giving each other their space,

the personal boundaries

that remain sacrosanct.

What a perfect metaphor

for fitting in.

And even for belonging,

serving the greater good

instead of ourselves.

So how odd, then

that atomized feeling

when the line eventually ends

and we disperse.

On our own

instead of part of something greater,

however transient

unnatural

mundane it was

to take our place and wait.

If manners are the small change of an ethical life, then I suppose waiting in line is similarly a microcosm of civilization. Especially in our culture, with its unprecedented emphasis on individualism. Because taking one's place and waiting patiently in line is a perfect example of deferring immediate personal gratification for the greater good; and of adhering to a code of conduct instead of a war of the strong against the weak.

There is this odd transient camaraderie that develops with those near you in line.

There is this reassuring sense of order and place.

And there is also a kind of relief: a fatalism in acceding to things beyond one's control; so that you have a kind of permission to do nothing but pass the time, permission to accomplish nothing without feeling guilty or unproductive.

Although these days, of course, pretty much everyone turns to their phone; so we still resist unstructured time and free-flowing thought, and we still have a convenient way to wall ourselves off instead of interacting with the strangers nearby. So, like much else in modern life, even lines are no longer what they used to be!