Line Cutters Anonymous
You are forgiven.
We’ve all done it. Cheated on a highway merging lane. Waited and waited and waited until that dashed line went solid then got over to exit. We knew what we were doing, maybe we even gave that little, “I’m sorry, I’m a dick” hand wave at the understandably pissed off person who followed traffic rules and was a productive and honorable member of society. As I have aged, and my punk-ass New York tendencies have softened to commuter dad foibles, I have found myself cutting in less and less. I kind of like rules now. I appreciate a good line. I don’t mind waiting for things, as long as no one is truly incompetent up front, and there is a clear purpose. Lines keep us together, moving forward as a culture and as a society. If no one gave a shit about lines, we might as well just be in pure anarchy. Maybe that’s what some people want, but I don’t think they’d like it much, because then there wouldn’t be a line for them to cut and they’d be stuck brawling it out with everyone else and their Aunt Brenda.
I say this well aware of our current situation. We’ve been taken over by line cutters. Those who believe that rules are for suckers. But that eat my dust gaggle has actually forced my hand and made me fall more deeply in love with the rules. Rules rule! (BTW that’s our movement’s new tagline. We have 0 current members.) The virtue of patience has gone by the wayside and I feel like just the right turtle man to wage a “no, after you” war of unnoticed attrition to bring it back. “I’m Seth Jacobs and I approve this mess… Oh sorry, were you saying something? Go ahead.”
Don’t we want employees washing hands before returning to work? Don’t we like taking a number at the deli counter? Fares are good because the subway system will have enough money to pay people to clean it. So let’s wait until our zone is called and put our phones on airplane mode and buckle our seatbelts when the professional flying the plane says it’s time to do so.
But I get it, we all have places to go, and people to be and negronis to drink and meetings to skip, but aren’t lines kind of sexy? Order, clarity, calm, clear goals, less panic. Doesn’t that sound hot right about now? “Oh yeah baby, show me your organization skills, and your retractable belt barriers. Move real slow and dance that orderly, predictable dance. Queue up for me.” Let’s have more lines. Lunch lines, ticket lines, entry lines. What about we make lines to post on social media, so you actually had to think first? “You are 67th in line to talk about the viral bacon waffle taco, and your approximate wait time is 33 minutes. Please have your post ready.” At the very least we’d have fewer spelling errors.
But I am not hurling any pebbles in this glass house of mine. I have cut lines, many times. Still do occasionally, but now the difference is I feel bad. To all those kind folks that witnessed my younger self edge my nose in, waiting for the tiniest little break in cars, I hereby apologize. To the Japanese people who stared in disgust at me as I pushed to the front of the Shibuya crossing thinking those four extra seconds mattered, on behalf of all Americans, I am sorry. If only my crappy, super tensed up, stressed out, back allowed me, I would bow very low indeed.
The other tack I could take is go all the way into rule orthodoxy, become a road rager, screaming in a roided-out fury about the cutters. The ultimate rule defender, that takes it so far, he becomes what he despises. The guy that goes Hulk, ready to pounce to defend decency in the face of “people today!” Honestly, I want neither. Rule breakers or wild defenders. You guys can both go oil each other up and make out in a secluded drive thru somewhere off Rt. 9. Lock your slippery, thick legs around each other and do your thang. Take all the Karens and Carls with you, and also bring all those people who love to get in fist fights at fast food restaurants and airline counters. Why do you do it? What in your life has led you to want to throw hands over chicken nuggets?
Maybe we set up a reality show where rule defenders and rule breakers can square off against each other, and the rest of us can just watch, dipping baby carrots in everything bagel hummus not giving a shit who wins, just psyched they’re all on an island and we can get back to a life without quite as much spitting.
But I’m not insane, I’m not going to sit in a 35 minute traffic jam just to let everyone else skip the line. That’s madness. I’m also not going to switch over at the last second. It’s just not me anymore. People I ask you, can we chill the fuck out a bit? Can we rush 3% less? There is a middle ground, a common sense place where we get where we’re going, but our blood pressure stays below defcon 1, thermonuclear meltdown. Where we avoid crawling traffic, but we don’t cause it either. Where we can all still feel like we are the center of our own glorious solar systems, but don’t have to be the black hole eating up all the others. Where we can still be Americans, but not be the assholes of the world. Come on, say it with me everyone, “Rules rule!”
Hi, I’m Seth and it’s been two weeks since I last cut in line.