The line is an unavoidable fixture in our daily lives. It forms instantly and everywhere – at the local coffee shop, outside concert venues or at the premiere for the newest Star Wars movie (though no one asked for another one, and it will most certainly disappoint). Even being on hold during a phone call is being in a queue. Collectively, Americans spend a staggering 37 billion hours in line per year. In a world that values efficiency, it is almost paradoxical that standing in line is so ingrained in our society – why do we endure it?
Some lines are more bearable than others. Take, for instance, the lines at Disney. Disney’s engineers have gone to great lengths to make waiting as painless and magical as possible. Their immersive queues transform the wait into an extension of the attraction itself, complete with pre-shows and other entertainment to keep guests engaged. As Harvard Business School Professor David H. Messer says in his 2005 paper, The Psychology of Waiting Lines, “Occupied time feels shorter than unoccupied time.”
The Line for Space Mountain, one of Disney’s most popular rides (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
Few lines are as loathed as those at the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). I recently visited the DMV in Times Square – likely making me the first person to go willingly – and it was abundantly clear that not much thought had been put into this waiting experience. Rows of worn black reception benches shone under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. Desks lined the room’s perimeter, and a slow-moving line snaked through the back. Bright TVs on the wall displayed call numbers that changed at the speed of molasses. The sole attempt at decoration – or distraction – was a mural with the words “Welcome to DMV” painted above some iconic New York City buildings. The DMV doesn’t just fail to alleviate the agony of waiting – it amplifies it. The whole ordeal is further compounded by the stress of navigating government bureaucracy, ensuring your personal information is accurate, and the gnawing uncertainty of how long the entire process will take. This aligns with two other rules from Messer: “uncertain waits are longer than known, finite waits” and “anxiety makes waits seem longer.”
The Dreadful DMV Mural (Source: Google)
Regardless of all the lengths Disney has and the DMV has not taken, waiting in lines of any kind forces us to confront two things we deeply abhor: a lack of control, and the feeling our time is being wasted. Perhaps not all lines are created equal, but our hatred for them is. Yet, whatever form the line takes, we wait patiently and obediently. This is why there is nothing that demonstrates the inherent civility of the human race than waiting in line.
To understand the queue and its origins, we journey back to Paris, just after the French Revolution. This system of “first come, first serve” made its first recorded appearance in the 1873 book The French Revolution: A History by Scottish historian Thomas Carlyle. Bread was scarce, and masses of citizens gathered at bakeries. They organized themselves in single-file lines that extended from shops like, as Carlyle put it, a little tail, hence the name “queue” (French for “tail”).
Transactions prior to this may have resembled chaotic throngs of individuals clamoring for a vendor’s attention. With no written accounts of people queuing before this period, this likely is the first instance of the organized line. That being said, lines are a natural occurrence wherever groups form. Walking in formation is a type of line; animals in herds instinctively arrange themselves in linear order. However, the structured queue – people waiting their turn for a specific purpose – may be a more modern construct.
French philosopher Jean-Jacque Rousseau’s The Social Contract offers insight into the deeper meaning of such order. He describes a social agreement where individuals exchange certain freedoms for a collective good, or the “volonté generale” (general will). This collective civility, or social pact, Rousseau argues, does not destroy “natural equality” but substitutes “a moral and lawful equality for whatever physical inequality that nature may have.”
For a brief moment, the queue becomes the great equalizer. All who wait share a singular goal: to reach the end. And though the primal instincts of selfishness and urgency may tug at us, the queue does not allow it. It is an unspoken pact, a mutual agreement, a social contract between strangers. In the queue, we sacrifice our most precious resource – time – for order and civility.
We wait not merely out of necessity but because, even if only subconsciously, we revere and uphold the principles of fairness and equality that a line represents.
The end of the line is a beautiful thing. What we sought is now ours, but the wait transforms the reward into something sweeter. Something we earned.
