Call it strange. Call it annoying. However you want to label it, one thing's for sure. I love standing directly behind people in lines. I've been yelled at, cursed at, and even spit at for my unusual obsession. I've tried lying on couches while "experts' listen to my admissions of behavior but I continue to come back to the same natural desires. For me, there isn't any better experience than standing toes to heals with a complete stranger. I think I was in kindergarten the first time I discovered my unique habit.It was the second week of school when my mom became tired of packing my lunch. She had a long day and simply couldn't muster the energy to spread Jiffy on a piece of bread and follow it with a slathering of Vons-brand grape jelly. Instead of washing a few baby carrots and putting them into a plastic baggie, she opened her purse and pulled out a crisp dollar bill and an old tarnished quarter. She put the currency in the outermost pocket of my backpack before tucking me in and giving me instructions on how to go to the cafeteria and give the lady with the hairnet my money.
Suffice it to say, I was excited. Don't get me wrong. I love a paper sack of PB and J, carrots, celery, and reduced-fat Wheat Thins just as much as the next kid. Not only was I intrigued by the idea of getting a hot meal, but the next day was Friday - pizza day. Pizza day was such a success the previous week and all of my new friends raved about how great it was. I could hardly sleep.
Lunch time couldn't come fast enough. My fingers couldn't paint the blank pieces of construction paper without stopping as I dreamed about that piping hot rectangle of starchy, dry, flavorless piece of "pizza." Morning recess was a bore and seemed to take even longer than the reciting of the Pledge of Allegiance.
Finally, I was escorted with the rest of "hot lunch purchasers" to the cafeteria and this is where it happened. Sarah with her tangled hair and Brave Little Toaster t-shirt was so excited for the pizza that she literally stood on the heals of my tennis shoes. I wasn't mad, but her enthusiasm drove me to imitation and I stood on the heals of Alex's sandals.
The rest, they say, is history. Ever since, no matter where I am, I have to get as close to the person in front of me as I can. Disneyland lines, grocery store lines, water park lines. Even if the line isn't moving, I can't help but to nudge in as close as I can. I don't know what it is. I love breathing down their necks. I want my hot breath to make its way past the forest of hairs and and spread across their scalps.
Do I know that they're aware of my presence? Absolutely I do. I don't care. They'll step forward and I'm right there with them. I like to pile my groceries over the wand-like divider that they set up on the conveyor belt. If it's just a small counter and I see the attendant hand over the change, it's my turn. End of story. I push my way forward forcing them to hastily grab their bags and shove their money into their pockets.
People don't like it. In fact, they hate it. I've been called every name imaginable. I've been pushed back and ignored. The idea of getting to that disgusting piece of pizza has stuck with me and made a permanent home deep within the confines of my brain. If there's a line, I have to be at the front of it and I won't let anyone stand in my way.
No comments:
Post a Comment