Wait

In America, we dread and avoid lines. If there is a line for food, the food is almost always overrated, and we should never get in it. Airport security has a whole system that allows you to (mostly) skip lines; it is so popular that there are now sub-lines. (Try telling me that precheck in Denver is remotely acceptable, ever.) We dread the post office & DMV because we hate lines. Amusement parks exist to hide their lines behind other lines.

In England, which we won’t be discussing beyond this paragraph, they wait in line, and hate it, and try not to make much of a fuss. This is both pitiable and more sufferable than American lines.

In east Asia, the line is ritual, sport, joy. One relishes the line. One buys equipment for the line. You get a little cot, throw on headphones, plug in a separate battery for your phone. Lines appear in Japan, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore, and I’m sure many other places because whatever is at the end of the line is completely amazing.

“What did you do in Japan, nickd?” Great question, thanks for asking. I waited in line. I waited in line for the promised land. I waited in line for udon. I waited in line for ramen. I waited in line for tea. I waited in line for ice cream. I waited in line for coffee on four nonconsecutive occasions at four different coffee shops in four different neighborhoods of Tokyo. I waited in line for a cocktail, and when I was turned away I waited some more anyway, and then I was let in because they took pity on me and it was raining. I waited in all weather conditions. I waited in full sun and shade. I waited in the cold. I waited while nursing a shin splint. And on my final day in Tokyo, I spent one hundred and fifty standard calendar minutes waiting for the most expensive meal of the trip: a 15 dollar, Michelin-starred bowl of ramen, at Chukasoba Hachigou in Ginza.