I have an appointment at 1:00, so I arrive Sunday at the automated parcel postage machine with twenty-five minutes to spare to be on time for my appointment. No problem. I am next in line behind an elderly woman and her husband. This is until I realize that she cannot make her card work and has to keep restarting the whole process. I can almost wait, really I can, until she starts taking packages out of a bag. The stream of packages seems never-ending, like Mary Poppins pulling lamps and furniture out of her tiny carpetbag.
The woman behind me tries to help the woman in front of me. Finally, I step in, press the buttons, run her card, and move her along. I am now ten minutes late to my appointment. Worst of all, I don't even need to print the postage; I just need to verify the weight -- a simple, twenty seconds worth of time that takes me over a half hour as "next in line."
Monday comes shopping. I hate shopping to start with, but couple it with the holiday season, and I am easily in rage mode when at stores. I need to make six stops on a late Monday afternoon. Stop #1 -- no line; no problem. Stop #2, a line (not too awful), but I grin and bear it. Stop #3 -- ridiculous line, three cashiers, huge search for gift cards.
Stop #5 is deja vu. I am in a line, not a terribly long line, and I keep looking at the one person manning the counter. He is dealing with a customer, a tall man about my age, and they are holding an animated conversation. Then, the sales clerk's telephone gets involved. As time ticks away, I notice people leaving the line. The woman behind me asks how long this one customer has been at it. "Fifteen minutes so far," I respond, "but he was here before I got in line, so maybe longer." People in line are fidgeting uncomfortably, rolling their eyes, sighing, looking around, sending eye daggers to the clerk and the customer. I feel like Ralphie waiting to tell Santa he wants a Red Ryder BB gun.
I bail at the eighteen minute mark. I have so many more important things to do with my life, and this certainly is not one of them. I don't know what kind of problem the customer has that requires phone calls when we are all standing in line at a gift card kiosk. Either you have the card, or you don't; either you have payment, or you don't.
This is not frigging rocket science -- it's Christmas. At least, it's supposed to be.
So, people, Merry Christmas. My gift to you is not blowing a head gasket while waiting in stupid, idiotic, unnecessary, futile, asinine, dumb-ass lines.
