Skip navigation

It gets my goat...

I Queue

I was most gratified the other day to notice that one of my targets from a previous column ("Rail Rage") has been addressed - the seats on some inter-city trains - no advertising sorry - are now numbered uniquely, thus eliminating at one stroke the Facing and Back conundrum that seems to vex the minds of England's brainless when travelling long-distance. Not that I'm claiming credit for this or anything, but it did cheer me up marginally.

I was in need of serious cheering up however! Buying a ticket earlier that day I was reminded of an idea I'd been toying with for a couple of years regarding queues -namely that there should always be two queues - a regular one for people like me and another one for People Who Don't Know What The Fuck They're Doing. Now this isn't something that applies solely to queues in railway ticket halls, but on this particular morning I was presented with a number of fine examples of Homo Nonsapiens attempting to negotiate the complex twists and turns of ticket buying logic.

First came an excellent illustration of the person who is unable to make their mind up what they want until the last minute. In this case it was a traveller who was not only unsure of when she wanted to travel, but had serious reservations about both the route to take and the final destination, and had decided to use the hapless ticket clerk as a sounding board. You can see the same phenomenon in action at the deli counter in your local supermarket - obtuse morons who only start thinking about what they want after their number's called - personally I blame that twat Jamie Oliver with his parmesan nob helmet...

Next up a couple of specimens of subhuman white trash admirably demonstrated the BRAF phenomenon (Blind Refusal to Accept the Facts). On being informed of the fare, this unattractive pair began cantankerously arguing with the ticket clerk, apparently unaware that their belligerent bartering system didn't extend beyond the car boot sales in the station car park. The fare is the fare is the fare. It's no use arguing the toss about it!

Finally, I reached the front of the queue and after a few seconds moved forward at the sound of "Cashier number three please". However, what happened next made my jaw drop - some yuppie bloke who hadn't even been queuing up rushed past me to the ticket window.

"Sorry, I'm in a rush, I've got to get my train, it's really important!" he grinned, hoping to turn on the charm. Before I could marshall my thoughts and vent my incandescent fury he had started ordering his ticket. The cashier didn't even bat an eyelid (this wouldn't have happened in, say, Holland where he'd have been told firmly, but politely to get to the back of the queue).

So. Two queues. It's the only thing for it. That, or an AK47.