Holding Up the Line
Sept 25 2026
I’m somewhere in the middle
as the line behind me builds.
And while annoyed by the wait, I feel a little smug
eyeing the late-comers
who drift in one-by-one.
After all, could always be worse.
We take baby steps,
shuffling ahead
while protecting our personal space
— as if these were the strangers
our mothers warned us against.
Actually, not even glancing up,
because eye contact
might risk inviting more.
Although there's always an outgoing sort
who’s irrepressibly chatty.
I have to admit, I wish I could be as happy
as she seems to be,
instead of introverted
taciturn
and too anxious to engage.
Some fidget and stew,
as if to project
how irate they feel.
The type who’d demand to see the manager
if anyone there
was even listening,
if the harried attendant
wasn’t busy enough.
Some stare into screens,
spending time no differently
than they do every day.
I catch a young couple flirting
out the corner of my eye
and feel a little envious.
While an older one has their hands full
corralling restless kids
tempted by the candy bars
and salty snacks,
cleverly placed
at arm's-length
on either side.
Like a diorama, in real-time
of love’s starry-eyed beginning
and its sleep-deprived end.
I stand still
but hardly stoical,
willing the line to move
and stealing glances
to see how far to go.
The groceries
perilously balanced in my hands
are getting heavier,
and as time ticks down, I feel increasingly trapped
in this over heated building
and this claustrophobic line.
How much of life is waiting?
If not in line
then for the one big break,
your one great love,
that mythical time
when all the work is finally done
and you can become
who you were meant to be.
No endless to-do list,
no putting in time.
No bumping up against a stranger
who gives the evil eye.
And no one
like the confused old man
at the self-scanning machine,
looking vacantly for help
and holding up the line.
Just to clear the record. I am an introvert, but not very shy. (Yes, they’re 2 different things.) And, when I get the chance, hardly taciturn.
Actually, stuck in a line with strangers I’ll never see again, the anonymity seems to give me permission to be uncharacteristically outgoing. Sometimes, I’ll actually initiate conversation: when I’m in the mood, just an amusing observation we can easily share. Makes the wait easier. Keeps me occupied. Humanizes what can be an uncomfortable proximity.
Indeed, a lot of life is waiting. How often are we urged (or urge ourselves) to hurry up, only to end up waiting?
(I think it’s actually called a “self-checkout” machine. But for some reason self-scanning sounded better.)
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