The smell of cinnamon and yeast hung thick in the air, a warm blanket on a Saturday morning. I was standing in line at this little bakery, the one that makes those puffy, sweet buns with the cream cheese swirl. They only bake a certain amount each day, and if you don’t get there early, they’re gone. I don’t really know why, but I find myself getting really anxious when there’s a lot of loud talking or sudden loud noises. It just makes my ears feel weird, like they’re buzzing inside. So, I was trying to focus on the quiet hum of the refrigerators and the gentle clinking of trays from the back, hoping nobody would suddenly yell or drop something.
The line was long, snaking almost out the door. Everyone seemed pretty patient, shuffling forward a few inches at a time. I was maybe two-thirds of the way back, eyeing the display case. They had some of the strawberry tarts left, which was a good sign. I was planning on getting three of those, maybe five, because I always buy an odd number of sweet treats. It’s just a thing I do. I don’t know why, it just feels right. It’s not like I count anything else in odd numbers, just bakery items.
A lady and a man walked into the bakery. The lady had a bright pink jacket on and a purse that looked like it weighed a lot. The man with her had his hands in his pockets and looked kind of tired already. They stopped for a second, looking at the long line. I noticed the lady tapping her foot on the clean floor. She glanced at her watch, then back at the line, her mouth set in a thin line.
Then, without really slowing down, she started walking right past everyone. Not to look at the display, not to ask a question. She was heading straight for the cash register, like the line just wasn’t even there. People in front of me shifted, some of them giving each other confused looks. A few quiet murmurs started up, like distant bees buzzing. My ears started to feel that familiar tingle, a warning sign.
“Excuse me,” a man near the front of the line said, his voice a bit louder than the other sounds. “The line starts back there.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, back towards where I was standing.
The lady in the pink jacket stopped. She turned her head, slowly, like she was surprised anyone would speak to her. She put one hand on her hip. “I’m just getting a single item,” she announced, her voice a little sharp. “I don’t need to wait in a ridiculously long line for one little thing.”
The man who had spoken just blinked. “Doesn’t matter if it’s one thing or ten, we’re all waiting.”
The lady just rolled her eyes and started to turn back towards the counter. Her husband, the tired-looking man, finally spoke up, though his voice was soft. “Honey, maybe we should just go to the back. It’s not a big deal.” He tried to gently take her arm, but she pulled away.
“It is a big deal, Dave,” she said to him, but loud enough for a few people to hear. “My time is valuable. I have an appointment. Some of these people probably don’t have anywhere to be.” She gave the line a quick, dismissive look, as if judging everyone’s Saturday plans.
The murmuring grew a little louder. I noticed a few people pulling out their phones, but not to take pictures, more like they were trying to avoid eye contact. The tingle in my ears was getting stronger, a sign that the noise was going to become a real problem soon. I really just wanted my strawberry tarts. I thought about what I could do. I didn’t want to yell, that would just make things worse for my ears. I had to think of something else.
Just then, something else strange happened. Another person, a young woman with headphones on, walked in and, seeing the pink-jacket lady trying to cut, decided to try the same thing! She walked right past me and a few others, trying to sneak in behind the pink-jacket lady, figuring that if the first one got away with it, she could too. She was maybe ten feet behind the pink-jacket lady, but still way ahead of most of the line.
The man who had first spoken to the pink-jacket lady looked even more frustrated. He just threw his hands up a little. The pink-jacket lady, though, seemed to take no notice of this second line-cutter. She was too focused on her own problem.
I thought about what I had just seen. Two people, thinking they could just walk to the front. It was like they had some secret trick. But the trick wasn’t working. It was just making everyone annoyed. And now, the pink-jacket lady was making a bigger fuss. This was starting to feel really bad for my ears.
I took a deep breath. I walked a little bit forward, not pushing past anyone, just easing myself into a spot where I was closer to the pink-jacket lady, but not directly confronting her. Her husband, Dave, saw me coming and gave me a tired look. I spoke up, not too loud, just loud enough for her to hear. “You know,” I said, looking not directly at her, but more at the spot where the second line-cutter was now arguing with someone else, “it’s funny how some people try to figure out a ‘fast lane’ around things.”
The pink-jacket lady turned her head to look at me, her expression still annoyed. “What are you talking about?” she asked, a little snappishly.
“Well,” I continued, still keeping my voice even, “I’ve seen it before. People think if they just act like there’s no line, they can get ahead. Like that person back there,” I nodded subtly towards the second line-cutter, who was now being told very firmly to go to the back. “They’re trying it too. But the thing is, if too many people try to find their own ‘fast lane,’ it just makes a big mess, doesn’t it? Then everyone gets stuck, even the ones who are really good at being quick and efficient. Like if you’re trying to get somewhere important, you wouldn’t want to get stuck behind a bunch of people who are just making the whole road confusing, right?”
The pink-jacket lady looked from me to the second line-cutter, who was now stomping off towards the very back of the line. She squinted her eyes, like she was thinking very hard about something. Her husband, Dave, was watching her carefully, a tiny bit of hope in his eyes.
“I mean,” I added, lowering my voice a little, “it’s usually smarter to just figure out the best way to keep things moving for yourself. Find the path that’s going to get you out fastest without all the fuss, even if it seems longer at first. Sometimes going with the flow is actually the quickest way to get what you need done, especially when you’re on a tight schedule. Smart people know how to avoid getting stuck in a muddle.”
She chewed on her lip for a second, looking at the line, then at the cash register, then back at the second line-cutter who was now just a small dot at the very end of the long queue. A flicker of understanding, or maybe just a new calculation, crossed her face. She puffed out a little sigh, a sound like air escaping a balloon. “Well, I certainly don’t want to get stuck in a ‘muddle’,” she stated, her voice still firm, but with less anger. “That would just waste even more time.” She looked at Dave, who offered a small, encouraging nod.
“Come on, Dave,” she said, her voice now back to its normal speaking level, “let’s go find the real end of this line. No sense in making things take longer than they have to.” She turned, not looking at me again, and started walking towards the back, past all the people she had tried to cut. Dave gave me a quick, grateful wink before following her. The buzzing in my ears started to fade a little, replaced by the happy thought of those strawberry tarts. I slowly shuffled forward, just like everyone else.
