I hate cutters. You know them– the people who cut in line while everyone else stands around waiting like a bunch of suckers. Somehow, there is a certain portion of the population that has failed to retain a basic lesson that is hammered into most people’s head during kindergarten.
Earlier today, Jaime and I went on a six mile bike ride down the McQueen’s Island Historic Trail. It was in the mid-sixties and sunny, and we’ve both been sick with a head cold (her last week, me currently), so we decided that we couldn’t pass up a nice February day. We recently purchased a new bike rack with some of our Christmas gift certificates, and Jaime bought a nice new seat, so we were looking for an excuse to use them.
On the way home, we stopped to get some gas. The gas station was pretty full– only one pump available that didn’t involve me having to reverse my car with limited visibility caused by two bikes hoisted directly into my rear field of view. I go to pull up to the pump, and there is this guy in a very colorful bright green outfit standing right in the middle of the area where I needed to place my car in order to pump gas.
I creep, he looks at me. Another inch forward. Still looking at me. OK, buddy, get your ass out of the way. This is a place of business, and I am in fact here to conduct business. I just let my car idle– if I hit him, it’s on tape, and it’s his own stupidity that would be the cause of the accident. As I roll, he takes two steps backwards to avoid being hit. Now I’m lucky enough to have this guy right at my door. How rude can one be? I open my door as he steps back, I give him a dirty look, I lock my doors, and I go in to prepay.
The line is long, so I take my place at the end. Two lines, one with a clerk I know is slow, one with a clerk I know is fast. The slow clerk is getting some lottery tickets, so I pick the line on the left. OK, I’m fourth in line, behind creepy, stupid green jump suit guy. Apparently, the line was not moving fast enough for him. From his inch-thick wad of cash, he pulls ten singles. He walks up to the front, and says, “My child is in the car. Put ten on pump six.” He tosses down the cash, and goes to his car.
OK, now, if your child was in the car, why the hell were you two spots over, where I needed to park, talking to someone in a car that was not yours? I’ll tell you why– because you’re stupid and rude. Your waiting child is excuse enough to cut in line, but not excuse enough to interrupt your conversation and subsequent inconveniencing of others? Pathetic.
So now I’m number three in line, waiting my turn like a good little boy. The guy who was first just had to pay for gas, so he was nice and quick. I’m second, and the guy ahead of me seems to be just standing there, so I ask, “Excuse me, are you in line?” to which he replies, “No, go ahead.” I step forward, and like that, some rude person from the lotto line sneaks in front of me.
Come on now! I’ve been in line too, and just because I’m more observant in the pace of the lines and have actually waited less time than you doesn’t mean you now have the right to cut in front of me. That’s not how the line works.
I step up next to him, tell the cashier that I was next in line, and that I expect to be served first. She looks at him. She looks at me. He’s getting a Mr. Goodbar. I’ve got a stack of cash ready to pay for gas. She looks at him. She looks at me. She was going to allow the cutter to break the rules! I again state that I was in line first and that he cut, and I hand her my money for my gas pump, she rings me up, and I leave. That damn cutter is not going to subvert the well-established and easily-understood rules of waiting in line.
I pumped my gas and went home, with yet another less than favorable review of the general public.
We did have a nice bike ride, though.