Saturday at the railway reservation counter, I'd been in the line for 50 minutes with a flask and a book.
A man in a cream shirt walked up the side and slid his form across to the clerk.
Didn't look at anyone. Didn't say sorry. The clerk took it. Just took it, like it was normal.
The lady in front of me, carrying oranges, said nothing. The 3 men behind me said nothing. I said something.
I said, sir, there's a line. Calm voice. He turned around and said, I only have a small question.
It was not a small question. It was a full form with 2 photographs and a long story about his mother.
The clerk looked at me. I looked at the clerk. He gave a tiny shrug like his hands were tied.
It took 20 minutes. The line behind me grew to 14 people. Nobody else said a word.
On the way out, an older man whispered to me, you should have shouted. I said, you could have too.
He said his knees hurt and he didn't want trouble. Fine. I wanted my ticket and I got it.
Man in the cream shirt left in 20 minutes with a smile. I left after 1 hour 40 minutes.
I'd read 60 pages of a detective novel and I still don't know who did it.
Since then I say it every time. Politely. Once at a bank, once at a petrol pump, once at a wedding buffet.
At the buffet a boy of about 12 said, uncle, it's only 1 plate. I let him go ahead. Why not.
Most people just say sorry and go to the back. It works about 7 times out of 10.
The other 3 times I get a look, and I'm slowly learning to enjoy it.