New Blog! Read Now and Avoid the Lines

I was waiting in line at a drive-thru restaurant yesterday morning, after waiting in line at the bank, and suddenly it occurred to me, I spend a lot of time waiting in line. Or so it seemed. Curious – I pulled out my phone and Googled, “How much time do people spend waiting in line?”

Picture from www.dailymail.co.uk. In Longview, Texas, trucks and SUVs spilled out of the parking lot and lined the streets, waiting to get into the drive-through for Chick-fil-A.
Picture from http://www.dailymail.co.uk. In Longview, Texas, trucks and SUVs spilled out of the parking lot and lined the streets, waiting to get into the drive-through for Chick-fil-A.

I was stunned when I read that over the course of a lifetime, the average American will spend TWO years waiting in line. TWO YEARS. Americans as a whole spend roughly 37 BILLION hours each year waiting in line. Mind blowing, isn’t it?

More surprising than the numbers though, was the discovery of M.I.T. operations researcher, Richard Larson. According to an article I read in the New York Times, “Why Waiting in Line is Torture,” Larson is widely considered to be the foremost expert on lines. Did you know there was an expert on lines? I didn’t.

There appears to be an entire science around lines. I guess that’s not all that astounding given today’s culture. We live in a microwave society. We want what we want and we want it now. We order our lunch from the company who promises a “freaky fast” delivery. We download the Waze app to save time on our daily commute. We pay extra for “express boarding” when we travel by air. We read stories like, “Why Waiting in Line is Torture,” hoping the moral of the story will reveal some new trick for avoiding lines. We don’t want to wait. Not in line. Not online.

As a matter of fact, according to computer scientist Ramesh Sitaraman, waiting of any sort can mean high anxiety for Internet users. Sitaraman’s research found that two seconds is the longest we’ll wait for an online video to load before we start looking at our watches. If we have to wait 10 seconds, 50 percent of us are going to bail. Apparently, we can’t spare that kind of time.

Why do we hate waiting in line so much? For the answer to that question, we return to the line expert, Professor Larson. He explained, in an article in The Huffington Post, “The Hidden Joy of Waiting in Line,” that occupied time feels shorter than unoccupied time, so when we’re standing in a long line or in a doctor’s office waiting room, the time feels as if it’s dragging on. Waiting can provoke impatience, stress and anxiety, and in turn, anxiety also makes waits seem longer.

“The dominant cost of waiting is an emotional one: stress, boredom, that nagging sensation that one’s life is slipping away,” Alex Stone wrote in the New York Times in 2012.

Apparently, the mere presence of a line can freak people out. So it stands to reason that multiple lines can really push people over the edge, right? That statement is true – but not for the reason you might think. The presence of multiple parallel lines, like the ones we see in the grocery store, create an anxiety because we are pressured to pick the right one – the line that will get us through the checkout and out of the door the quickest.

patienceWe’ve all been there. I was there last weekend. Pressed for time, I was trying to get in and out of Costco in rapid fashion. I was doing a fantastic job, until I reached the checkout area and had to decide on a line. Before I could choose, there were several factors I needed to consider: the number of people in each line, the quantity of items in each cart, and the chattiness of the employees. Once I selected my line, I then spent the rest of my time waiting, comparing my wait to those in the adjacent lines. Am I beating that line? Am I losing to that one? I can probably beat all of the lines as long as nothing unforeseen happens – like a price check.

Weirdly, I don’t remember if I won or lost, because at the end of my shopping experience, the clerk helped me find a box to carry all of my purchases and a couple of my items rang up at lower prices than I anticipated. According to the line experts, my inability to remember the details of the race wasn’t so weird. The experts assert that when a long wait ends positively, we tend to forget all about the trauma of waiting. The reverse is true as well. If our experience ends on a down note, we will fixate on that negative story even if the whole process wasn’t that bad.

We’ve all been there, too, haven’t we? I remember not too long ago running into the post office to mail a few packages for work. I had a pile of brightly colored boxes I was sending to some folks who’d helped me out with a video shoot. The line moved quickly and the clerk was quite pleasant and helpful. When it was time to pay I handed the clerk my credit card, he processed my payment, returned the card and then mispronounced my last name. Instead of Daum he said Dum. Game over.

david barryOne of the biggest factors in how we perceive our line waiting experience boils down to fairness. It goes without saying (but I have to say it here because this is a blog and this is where I say stuff), the first one to get in line is the first one to be served. Anyone who colors outside of the lines of first come, first served, is asking for trouble.  Isn’t one of the earliest rules we all learn when it comes to line etiquette is that there are no cuts?

These new drive-thru lines, that split in two and then converge into one, sometimes make the first come, first served rule a challenge. Just last week I was sitting in a line ahead of the split and some guy drove next to me, almost on the sidewalk, and maneuvered ahead in one of the lines. I had this “Fried Green Tomatoes” moment flash in my head where I drove my little Prius into the side of his Escalade. Thankfully that inclination left as quickly as it came and I maintained my composure.

But maintaining one’s composure when someone cuts in line is easier said than done for some folks. There’s an ABC 20/20 piece about “line rage” that showcases throwdowns in the men’s room at a professional sporting event, at an Apple new product unveiling and a convenience store. There’s actual footage of a woman getting so enraged when a guy tries to cut in front of her to buy cigarettes that she maces him. Google “muffin macer” and you can find that stress-filled encounter starring two adults behaving poorly.

Helping people avoid these kinds of experiences and the stress of lines are professional line sitters. Robert Samuel launched SOLD (Same Ole Line Dudes) in 2013 in New York. Samuel makes a living sitting in line for everything from Saturday Night Live tickets to cronuts. He charges $60 to wait in line and then deliver two ($5/each) cronuts to customers who don’t want to wait in crazy long lines at Soho’s Dominique Ansel Bakery.

Shared from the QLess Facebook page.
Shared from the QLess Facebook page.

And then, there’s Alex Backer. Backer is co-founder and CEO of QLess.

Operating on the principle that “waiting in line sucks,” QLess aims to “eliminate waiting in line from the face of the earth.” QLess is based in Los Angeles, which I suppose makes a lot of sense. If your mission is to eliminate lines you headquarter where there are a lot of people and a lot of lines, right?

Founded in 2007, QLess offers a technology that holds your spot in a virtual line and notifies you on your mobile phone when it’s your turn. According to QLess, the company “has a proven track record at Fortune 100 retail stores such as T-Mobile, Vodafone & Harrah’s, government offices such as Kansas, Missouri and New Hampshire DMVs or the City of Austin, restaurants such as Twin Peaks, and healthcare providers such as the Cleveland Clinic.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the resources to pay other people or technology to wait in line for me. Instead, I’m just going to have to suck it up, act like an adult and make the best of waiting. Spoiler alert – so are you.

P.S. My Google search turned some other interesting facts I thought about using in a later blog post – but hey – why make you wait? From the website Distractify, I found the following interesting tidbits about how we spend our time. (Disclaimer: I have no idea how accurate any of these things are. I just found them interesting.)

  1. We watch TV for 9.1 years.
  2. We spend two years watching commercials.
  3. Women spend 17 years of their lives trying to lose weight.
  4. We spend 92 days on the toilet.
  5. We spend 25 years sleeping.

Dancing Down Memory Lane

stupid-shirt-irtI was putting gas in my car over the weekend, when I looked up and saw a woman wearing a shirt that said, “I’m with stupid,” like the one pictured at right. My first thought was to grab my phone and take a picture. I wanted to immediately share this visual with my siblings. It would be a wildly funny text. An inside joke. But, given that the woman wearing the shirt was standing like, four feet in front of me, I fought the paparazzi impulse and returned to my car.

Thankfully, my son, David was in the passenger seat. So I went into storytelling mode, hoping my enthusiastic sharing of memories, would feel as good as snapping a picture and texting the details.

JimmieWalker2You see, I’ve seen this shirt before – on one of my siblings. In fact, I think I played a role in selecting the shirt for said sibling’s wardrobe. If that wasn’t bad enough, I recall adding a J.J. Walker hat to complete the look. It’s true. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this. I mean, it seems logical to me. You might think it’s a little bit cuckoo. Off center. Not that funny.

Anyway, when I was in seventh grade, I was responsible for watching my three youngest siblings while my mom was at work. My only charge was to make sure they didn’t get hurt. Sounds simple enough, right? Yeah, well – it was far from simple for this nervous Nelly. (Refer to my blog post, “It’s Just a Rash,” for more on my worrisome ways.) You see, we’re talking about ensuring the safety of a little brother, who at age 2, fell and hit his head on an iron planter. In front of a seasoned babysitter. While my mom was still in the house. The subsequent gash on his head required several stitches. This same brother also slipped and fell playing dodge ball at school once. A trip to the doctor on that occasion revealed a mild concussion. We’re also talking about corralling a younger sister, who at around age 4 was supposed to be napping when she removed the chimney from a metal dollhouse and gave herself a “shot” in the knee. Can you say four stitches? So you see, in reality, there was nothing at all simple about this task.

What to do? What to do? Cover them with bubble wrap? Lock them in their rooms?

Initially, I had no idea. Literally, none. Nada. Zero. For many of you younger folks, this will be a difficult concept to grasp. You’re probably thinking to yourselves, “Hello? Disney Channel!” But we’re talking 25+ years ago, well before JessiePhineas and Ferb, iPads, cell phones, Nintendos, etc. We were still writing on slate. Not really. I think we had pens and paper. We definitely didn’t have a home computer, nor the Internet. So I couldn’t just browse a few “Ideas for Keeping Young Siblings Busy” boards on Pinterest. And there definitely wasn’t an opportunity to Google, “how to occupy young children until mom comes home.”

I was stumped.

We didn’t have cable TV. DVR technology was not yet invented. So I couldn’t even rely on the hypnotic effects of the boob tube. After one episode of Gilligan’s Island and maybe a few minutes of Zoom, the natives would start getting restless.

midnight starLong story short, it was completely up to me to develop a creative strategy to keep my siblings busy and safe. It’s a scary thought, but I had to rely on my own pea brain for the precise approach. I don’t know where I came up with this idea, but when they were around first and second grade, I decided I would make them dance. I would choreograph some basic routines to tunes by the Bee Gees, Heatwave, Midnight Star or whatever other 45s I had laying around, teach them the moves and then make them rehearse over and over and over again until the clock struck 5:30 p.m. or my mom got home – whichever came first.

In retrospect, this was a pretty good method for keeping three kiddos in line, for two main reasons. First, because I made sure every dance was a group effort, no one was wandering off doing who knows what sort of dangerous thing. There would be no running around with scissors or crossing one’s eyes (because you know they can freeze that way). Second, because I didn’t really know what the heck I was doing, the technical difficulty of the dances was close to a 1 or 2. There were no jumps or lifts or splits and therefore very little risk for injury. Phew!

For whatever it’s worth, my younger siblings were pretty good performers. One year, they took their routine on the road and performed in the school talent show. That’s when they wore the J.J. Walker hats and the silly t-shirts. (In my defense, I had no budget. And I never claimed to be a costume designer or stylist. I was a simple choreographer.)

Anyway, they did really well in the show. I think they came in second to a kid telling jokes with a bag over his head (he called himself the Unknown Comic).

Everyone loved watching them dance, especially my mom. On occasion, my siblings would perform their latest dance routine as soon as my mom got home from work. She loved every moment of these performances. Loved. Loved. Loved them. I used her joy to my advantage. Every once in a while, when these little dancers tried to opt out of learning a new routine, or complained about being too tired, I would bring the ugly big sister pressure, “So you know how much mom loves to see you dance. And you’re telling me you seriously don’t want to be part of that? Mom works soooooooooooooo hard and you don’t want to bring a smile to her face with this dance? Really?” Makes me cringe just typing the preceding. But it usually worked. Guilt was a beautiful thing for this then stressed out teen. Ugh. I think I owe my siblings an apology.

It was at this point in my story telling that I glance over at David and observe that he has this blank look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was horrified – wondering if his fate would at some point place him on the dance floor when he’d rather be playing a game of Minecraft. Or perhaps he was in disbelief – doubting my assertion that when I grew up we didn’t have iPads, Nintendos or cellphones. I asked him to share his thoughts and his response was simple, “That’s really weird, mom.”

Yeah, it probably was really weird. But it was also quite fun. There was a lot of laughter in between the introduction of each new dance step. And again, it met my ultimate goal. It kept them safe.

memory lane 2jpgYou see, you’ll do just about anything to protect and care for the people you love. You’ll dance. You’ll choreograph. You’ll have your creative differences. You’ll compromise. You’ll do the best you can with the knowledge and experience you have at the time. You’ll do better as you get older. You’ll apologize when you fall short.

And, you’ll smile when you see someone wearing a shirt that says, “I’m with stupid,” because it will remind you of the people you love – people who in spite of all of your weirdness always love you right back.

It’s Just a Rash

“I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”  – Mark Twain

I saw the preceding quote this morning, on John O’Leary-Rising Above’s Facebook page. It made me chuckle. Mostly because of something that actually happened last night.

I’m not sure if it was terrible. It seemed sort of terrible at the time. You be the judge.

I was working on what I thought would be my next blog post. But I was really tired. I kept writing and rewriting. I was making silly mistakes. I started going down one path and then thought maybe I should head down another. I was copying, cutting, deleting, sorting and deleting some more. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I started to feel a twinge of frustration. So I decided it was time to put it down. That’s when the sort of terrible thing happened. Instead of hitting “save draft” I clicked “publish.”

I could hear the “Oh no!” in slow motion in my head. I imagined my numerous followers (like eight whole people) getting the email notification that I had published something new. In a matter of seconds, I actually heard the ding on my husband’s phone. (He’s one of my followers. Full disclosure: I subscribed on his behalf.) Anyway, I ran to check his inbox. And it was there. “Oh no!”

I returned to my laptop and quickly deleted the unfinished post. But it was too late. Those few paragraphs of really tortured writing were out there. Would this be the end of my blog? Would I get phone calls and emails from dissatisfied readers? Had I lost all WordPress credibility? What would people think?

I grabbed my phone and got in the middle of a group text with siblings, nieces and nephews. “Hey – I accidentally hit ‘publish’ instead of ‘save draft’ so you may get a notice that there’s a new blog post. That’s a mistake – sorry! It won’t be complete until tomorrow or Friday. Sorry!”

Crickets. Then came what I interpreted as an enthusiastic “OK!” and thumbs up emoticon from my niece, Brittni. Phew!

What else should I do? Should I post something on Facebook? Do I need to post an apology? Are there phone calls to be made? Crisis communication plans to consult?

Uncertain and perplexed, I did what I thought was best. I went to bed.

When I woke up, I saw John O’Leary’s Mark Twain quote I mentioned at the top of this post. I was reminded of last night’s fiasco. Perhaps it was a sign. If it was a sign, I needed to pay close attention. So I read John’s entire status update that accompanied the quote: “This one today for my friends who find themselves always worrying about what MIGHT happen…and you know who you are! Most of the things we worry about never happen…so let go of the worry today.”

worryYes, I know who we are! I know who I am anyway. I’m a worrier.

I’m not just any worrier. I’m the queen of worry. If worry was a science I would have a PhD. They’d call me Dr. Worry.

I’m an equal opportunity worrier. I worry about everything. Except for NBA basketball. I used to be a fan – but not anymore.

I worry about my family. I worry about the world. I worry about the weather. I worry about highway driving. I worry about my feet getting bigger. I wear a size 12. Need I say more?

I worry about my work. I do communications for a nonprofit organization. We have almost 5,000 subscribers to our e-communications. Before I hit “send” on any e-blast, a wave of worry punches me in the stomach. What if I spelled something wrong? What if the inserted links don’t work? What if all 5,000 subscribers are so disgusted by another email they decide to unsubscribe. There’s always lots of pacing. Biting of fingernails. Worst case scenarios running through my head.

With the exception of my brother, Bruce, I think all of my siblings are worriers.

There’s no comfort in that shared trait. Nope. I worry about my siblings being worriers. Worry = stress. Stress leads to sickness. I think you can see where this is going.

Getting back to last night’s publishing error, this morning, my brother, Bruce, responded to my text. He was reassuring, “Your draft showed up in my inbox…it was short, but interesting. Maybe it could be a future subject, the power of the ‘publish’ button. Maybe you can do a part 2 on practical jokes.” Spoken by someone who hasn’t a worry in the world.

Seriously though, I’ve gotten better about dealing with the worry. I’ve developed a strategy for coping. It’s not fool-proof, but it is effective about 79.7% of the time. Believe it or not, I developed this strategy during a very stressful period.

Several years ago, a family member was going through a rather serious health crisis. Let me say upfront that all is fine now. This family member is in great health. And he’s put that experience behind him. That’s why I am not mentioning him by name.

But back then, we weren’t quite sure. It was really scary. There were so many unknowns. He was being poked, prodded and tested for a variety of things, including a possible brain tumor. All the while he maintained an upbeat and positive attitude. He made jokes. He took care of others. He was a great patient. He did what the doctors and nurses told him to do. He was amazingly strong.

During one hospital stay, the doctor ordered a CT scan. When it was time for the scan, a nurse took him down to the test area in a wheelchair. The testing area was busy. He would have to wait.

There were lots of people waiting, including a patient who started expressing concern about a rash. This patient had a rash on his arm. He didn’t know why he had a rash. The longer this patient waited, the more vocal he became about said rash. He was clearly distressed. And he wanted everyone to know it. “Do you see this rash? What kind of rash do you think it is? Why do you think I have this rash? How do you treat a rash? Have you ever had a rash? Rash. Rash. Rash.”

I wasn’t present in that waiting room, but I immediately empathized with those sitting near Mr. Rash when I heard this story. I felt for those patients dealing with serious ailments and those, like my family member, who were working to get confirmed diagnoses. If only they had a rash…

You know, as I reflect on it right now, it’s almost as bad as having to put up with someone whining and fretting about a failed blog post when there are so many more pressing matters in this world. Right?

Anyway, when it was time for my family member’s CT scan, the nurse wheeled him by the man with the rash. My family member made eye contact with Mr. Rash and said, “Let me see that rash. Oh my gosh. That’s the same rash I had right before they found this brain tumor.”

worry3My family member was kidding, of course. And think what you will of his remark. He was just trying to insert a sense of perspective to the situation. It was just a rash.

For the last several years, I’ve used “It’s just a rash” as a means of combatting worry. When I need that little voice inside my head to talk me off the ledge, I have it say, “It’s just a rash.”

So last night, when I accidentally hit “publish” instead of “save draft,” did I really spin wildly out of control? No, not really. OK – I did for a few minutes. But then reality struck. “It was just a rash.”