Queueing – the silent killer
If I were an airline owner I would give the catering contract to McDonald’s.
I really hate standing in queues. Whether its for tickets to Lady blah blah, waiting for a big red bus, or ordering a quinoa burger, queuing is as annoying as a Piranha in your bath. The reason for my vehement intolerance is based on one simple, blindingly obvious fact. Queuing is unnecessary.
For example,
The line at the supermarket is typically longer than a Beatles haircut because they don’t have enough checkout operators, and those they do have are bored nineteen year olds.
The reason you queue at airport control is because you stand in lines that have a several second delay every time a passport controller comes free – waving his arm in a limp half hearted manner than says “hey no hurry, I’m bored shitless, can’t wait to get home to a cooked chicken and a roll in the hay.”
You queue at a train station because the ticket booth is behind glass so that the transaction includes several unnecessary red faced minutes yelling into a hole through hard of hearing glass.
Queuing is of course a very urban phenomenon. You don’t see so much of it in the countryside – yes the cows line up to get milked but they have much to talk about. In cities, queuing has become as ubiquitous as headphones on a teenager. This toe tapping standing about creates a good deal of urban stress. After all, the joy of urban life is its fast pace and bewildering array of funtivities. Queuing grinds the whole thing to an irritating halt, making a trip to an event or supermarket about as much fun as a visit from your mother-in-law. You put up with it but there is no way you are smiling.
The Poms of course, are famous for queuing. In England if two people happen to stand next to each other it becomes a queue. No one seems to know why they are queuing, it just seems to come as naturally to the British as bad teeth and a sleep in. Their tolerance for this completely unnecessary unfuntivity must surely relate to their general reluctance for work. “Sorry I’m late guvna – stuck in a queue then got me pocket picked so ad to queue at the nick to nark the little scrote”.
Anyway, you get my point. Now, at the risk of singing the praises of the devil, the one outfit that knows how to move a crowd is McDonalds. Yes, their burgers may be made from crushed babies and the drinks are more syrupy than Mick Jagger’s pick up lines, but if you want a quick feed, then you won’t get faster than the big M. Before you can say “were any orphans harmed in the making of these buns?” you are driving off laden with enough carbs on you lap to give a Palaeolithic man an instant envy filled heart attack.
And their secret? Well, it’s so simple you could rename the firm McSimon’s. All they do, is get the person taking orders to move along the line (you see this frequently at their drive-throughs). The line stays still, they come to you. It’s so simple and yet more effective than contraception. The McDonald’s method simply takes out the lag. That’s it.
This is why if I were an airline, I would give the catering contract to McDonalds. On a plane, the way food is delivered is tantamount to death by flea bites. The stewards look as though it’s the first time they have ever served a passenger. Unscrewing a gin bottle, pouring it into a glass, then unscrewing the soda bottle then pouring into the glass – you have got to be kidding. We’ve just landed! – that took longer than the pilot’s list of stopover shags. I could go on and on but we have all been on planes and know how starvation is more palatable than the food.
On short haul flights why don’t they just give you a doggy bag as you enter the plane? I reckon if you gave the contract to McDonalds we would stuffing our faces with Happy Meals before you could say ‘excuse me’ to the fat man who has just swallowed your pillow. I’m not saying actually serve McDonalds, I’m suggesting, use McDonalds systems and their ‘eliminate the queue’ attitude. You don’t get to be the worlds biggest food company by not knowing how to manage an impatient crowd.
Richard A Bain
Self confessed queue phobic