A tale of two queues

"You need to sign in with the app" "But I'm here!"

Britons queue for food rations, 1945 (Ministry of Information)

I don’t know about you but I get some of my best work done by way of displacement activity. For instance, I’m not sure I would ever file my taxes, change my bed sheets or respond to texts if I had no need to avoid something even worse. But I could put these two errands off no longer: I had to visit the local council’s offices and then the bank. In Carly Simon-speak, “Sentenced first to burn and then to freeze.”

The council expedition started well enough. The man at the welcome desk, tasked with directing all manner of bewildered arrivals, nodded with approval when I explained how I had printed and filled out the relevant document ahead of time. So I was handed a ticket and asked to wait for my number to be called.

On sitting down, I glanced at my phone and took a mental screenshot. Five minutes past ten and the place was already packed. A row of desks sparsely populated with local authority representatives. I waited as less deserving, earlier arrivals were called, one ear ensconced by audio, the other exposed to the restless energy, whispered (and not so whispered) conversations punctuated by irregular coughing fits.

Third podcast in, my number was called and the kindly older woman behind the desk swiftly went through her list of ID requirements. She appeared armed with reservations for each example I provided:

“Your driver’s license expires soon.”

“Yes, good thing it hasn’t yet.”

“Your energy bill has two names on it.”

“Yes, I’m married.”

“The name on your debit card doesn’t perfectly match that on your passport.”

“What do you think the ‘JH’ stands for and could it be the Jack Harry on all other documents?”

At this moment of heightened tension, the Eurythmics’ 1980s classic Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) was playing over the speaker and the colleague behind the adjacent desk started singing along. Not humming or mumbling — full-on belting — in between explaining to the young woman next to me there would be an additional charge for translating her documents from Romanian.

I left the building and emerged into the bright late morning sky, eyes involuntarily squinting. Next stop, the bank. Come on, private sector, show me that sweet, sweet efficiency of the global invisible hand. The first point of difference was that the branch was completely empty. Not a total shock for a weekday outside of lunch hours, but don’t repeat my mistake of confusing empty for quick service.

My first mistake, it transpired, was not to sign in via the app. This was how, it was explained to me, I could join the virtual queue. Despite being the only customer, the app informed me I was second in line and I was asked to take a seat next to a simply enormous television displaying beautiful young couples taking out mortgages at frankly unattractive rates.