No breaks – No cuts – No letsies here.
No privileged characters shunning the rules.
We all have to wait, as sad as it seems
To hear, “May I help the next person in line?”
Heaped-upon boredom, shuffling feet,
Side-to-side sashaying plucking at nerves
As the unending tedium wastes precious minutes
That could have been better spent sipping fine aged wine.
It’s one of the prices we pay to be social,
A meager concession learned in youth.
Practical practice, a way to keep order,
Fractional fairness, sensible truth.
Small wonder it evokes such uproar
Any time anyone breaks the design.
All yell in unison steeped with displeasure,
“Go to the back of the line!”
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