WAIT YOUR TURN
Prompt : Wait Your Turn : Write about having to wait in line
I was impressed with myself. Which wasn't something that happened often. But for someone as intrinsically lazy as me, to be up and out well before six thirty was a huge achievement. Especially when I didn't really have to be. Then into the car, drive twenty eight miles, and be parked and outside the theatre well before seven thirty was simply amazing.
It had been a bit of a shock to turn the corner and see the queue for the box office. There must have been near to a hundred people in that human snake, all of them potentially deadly to his chances. Suddenly I was feeling less impressed. But consoled myself by thinking that they probably hadn't had as far to come as I had.
I could have tried to book online again. But the last time the show did a recording anywhere near enough I'd failed to get seats because I took that approach. Better to get there in person I'd thought, be one of the first through the doors. Except I wasn't. Tickets were going on sale at nine. Not just to the hundred people ahead of me, but to online and phone sales too. I started to do some mental calculations of his chances. The theatre seated about eight hundred. Most of the people ahead would be wanting at least two tickets, but some would be taking more. So around three hundred or more would be gone that way by the time I'd reach the front. Meanwhile... I had no idea what the throughput for online sales would be, or how many people would be manning the phone, but it must be dozens. Hundreds even. I gave up trying to work it out. All I could do was stay in line.
There was little chat, which suited me. I've never been the sociable type, and having to make chit chat with a stranger at that time of day, and without a coffee, would have been beyond me. It was dry too, which was another good thing, because I'd probably be here for a couple of hours. But it would be worth it if I was successful in my quest. My wife was a huge fan of the show.
As nine approached there was murmuring from near the front. They must have been able to see the staff getting ready, and were anticipating getting their paws on the prize in short order. On the dot there was a ripple of applause and, a couple of minutes later, I found himself moving forward. But progress was slow. I tried to time it and it worked out about half a dozen places every five minutes. At this rate it would be ten thirty before I got there. How many bloody people did they have serving?
An hour passed in frustrating shuffles, with the odd hopeful spurt, and just as frequent dead stops. I was still about twenty metres from the windows that would at least allow me to view what was happening. But eventually I got there. Only three people sat behind the glass. Each one taking about two or three minutes to process a customer. Another fifteen minutes he thought.
Twenty passed and I was inside. Another five and I was the next one up. One customer left and I made a move to replace her, but the woman I was heading for got up and walked off. Grrrr.
Another minute, another customer left. I moved forward to take the spot, only for the guy to stop me with blunt force.
"Sorry sir, that's the last of the tickets gone now. We're completely sold out now." The man did at least have the decency to sound trepidatiously sheepish. As the impact hit me the last customer to come away happy was leaving, giving me a sympathetic glance. I thought about arguing, or pleading, but what would be the point? The queue behind dissolved into grumbling as the news filtered back.
Impressed no longer, I trudged back towards the car, shoulders sloping. I didn't know when to break the news to his wife.
"Excuse me! Excuse me! You in the brown jacket." I turned, not really expecting to be the target of the call. But there was the man who'd got the last tickets running towards me. Last seen taking a phone call outside the theatre.
I checked my pockets. Had I dropped something? But I'd never even got to the point of taking my wallet out. Had this guy chased me just to gloat?
"Sorry to have to shout like that. I didn't want to miss you. Just as I left back there I got a phone call from my wife. She'd had a call from her sister to say they're now going to Canada in October." He looked at me expectantly as if I should be saying something. "Sorry, of course, you don't know what that means. They were coming to the show with us, but can't now. As you were next in line I wondered if you'd like the tickets?" I stared at him open mouthed. He must be joking, mustn't he? But why? What if he was genuine? I struggled to find words. "Here." And there were two tickets in his outstretched hand. "You won't be next to us, I couldn't get four together, and I've kept the better ones for us, if that's OK, but these are better than walking away without. If you love the show like we do."
I took the tickets from him.
"Thanks."
"No problem. See you there maybe." And he was turned and walking off in a hurry.
I looked at the tickets. No reason not to think them genuine. I'd be going home with my trophy from the hunt after all. Then I remembered.
"Hey, I didn't pay you for them." But he was already some distance away. I gave chase, but he crossed a road, I got held up, and I'd lost him by the time there was a gap for me.
There was a small part of my brain wanted to go back to the theatre and ask at the box office if the tickets were genuine. I didn't. They were. And I never saw our benefactor again.
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