Today, I had to stand in line for 34 minutes. I haven't done this in many, many years. I had good reflections. I will jot down my ideas before they perish.
The line was in Canada Post. I had to mail a letter to a Canadian Service agency. I had to spend 34 minutes just to put a stamp. In 34 minutes, I would have replied to 5 emails, checked my FaceBook, read my Google Reader (that gets me news from 1000 news agencies), checked my PhD discussion forum. All, within the 34 minutes. While I had to stand in line doing nothing, except thinking, for 34 minutes. I tried to talk to the people in front of me. They just smiled politely as if telling me to shut up. This is the smooth polite Canadian way of being being rude, I looked around and started reading labels of items for sale. It was a total waste of time.
I do not understand why Canadian Service agencies do not use electronic systems. Why I had to mail the paper. They made me fill the form online, but at the end they said: print then mail. Why not Submit? Is this the government way to make people busy? I am wondering.
When I was driving home, I gave it more thought. One reason I left Lebanon for ever is the waiting I was expected to accept. I remember between 1975 and 1977 the waiting I had to do on the neighborhood bakery. I had to wait hours just to get a bag of [peta] bread. Bread is essential food item in Lebanon. If I do not wait all the way, my family will go hungry. Not because we are poor, nor because we had another alternative. But it was the war. Many times the bakery closed before my turn reached. Many times the zo3ran (what Canadian politely call the bullies) would cut the line and take all the bread. This used to hurt me. Deeply. Because I refuse to fight or to be a bully, my family has to spend a day witout bread. It frustrated me. This was one reason I hated queues. It was forcing me to be a bad person, otherwise my family will suffer. How can you make peace with this idea? I could not. That is why I hate standing in line. That is why I left Lebanon.
[imagery: just to describe how the line used to be, here is a brief description. Check this link to have a Google Maps idea: http://g.co/maps/p7pr9. A snapshot is on the right. Due to the war, the bakeries, which we call Forun, used to receive subsidized flour from the government to bake bread which is the basic food in Lebanon. The baker was supposed to sell the bread at a certain price, otherwise, the government will not give him flour. The baker would take quarter of the subsidized flour and bake them into bread to sell them at government price. While he uses the reaming three quarters to bake other stuff like banquettes, cake, cookies and what we call "petite feure" at more than 10 times its government set price. Thus he makes tonnes of money. A sort of legal stealing scheme in Lebanon. The government would send the flour late at night and the baker would start backing at early hours of the day. My mom would wake me up at 5 am to go and stand in line waiting for my turn. Usually the line extends from the bakery shop all the way to our house. That is around 3 blocks in New York block size. I would wait hours before the line start moving. I am leaning on walls of buildings. Many times under rain. Few times during shelling. It was the civil war, you know. I really believe these long waits made me a thinker. I had nothing I could do except wait and think. By the way, I was 17 years old, and we did not have smart phones nor iPads back then. The only available reading for me was a 37 pages Superman comics].
Another experiential queue I remember was when I wanted to apply for a US Visa in Dubai. That is around 30 years later. I had two experiences. One experience was nerve wrecking while the other one was enlightening.
The first one was in 2000. It was after a long period of time where I got used to "buy my queue". I had people who would go and wait in line in my place. I forgot the agony and anger the queues give me. But in 2000, I had to stand in line. The US embassy in Dubai want you to apply in person. Whoever you are, you have to be there. Their system necessitates that you stand in multiple sequential queues. The first one before even you get to their building (which was in the Dubai Trades Centre). At this stage, they just check the purpose of your visit. The second set of queues are inside the building before you get to the lifts. In this phase, you have to surrender everything you have except your pants and shirt. You may keep your passport. The third queue is in a corridor waiting for your turn to take the lift. The fourth queue is after you leave the lift, but before you are admitted into the offices. Here, they re-Xray you and ensure you are not hiding anything in your body. The fifth waiting place is inside the embassy, in a big hall where you are seated before your name was called. This was longest wait.
I remember the first time I applied, I left after the 4th wait. I was angry and frustrated. I felt humiliated. I swore I will never go again.
How can I live without visiting the US. So, I tried again the second time in 2002. After 9-11. You can imagine the strictness of the visit. So, before I go, I meditated, prayed, did partial hypnosis to tolerate the experience. I prepared myself mentally, physically and spiritually. I was frustrated at the second phase. I took a deep breath. Recited few relaxing phrases. Did a standing yoga to give myself a boast to survive it. Then an epiphany happened. I though to myself, why am I projecting negativity around myself. Why not mine for positivity and absorb it. This was a changing decision. That is when I decided to "waste the day no matter how long it takes". My mood changed. Suddenly, I recognized there are people around. I am not alone in this queue. I looked at their faces. I tried to think about them. What are their agonies. What make them happy. How can I make them happy. How can I project positivity unto them. Suddenly I became joyful. Then I decided to look at every individual based on who he is... and not how I want to make him to be... it was a value changing experience. Ever sine then, I started believing in individuality. But I still hated queues.
Today, I had to stand in line again. Those 34 minutes made me reflect on my previous experiences. Above all, made me recognize one anger I bottled up all these years. I am wondering, should I stand in queues more often? Is this why the Canadian government wanted me to mail the letter rather than email it?
Another queue, another experience and another day.
The line was in Canada Post. I had to mail a letter to a Canadian Service agency. I had to spend 34 minutes just to put a stamp. In 34 minutes, I would have replied to 5 emails, checked my FaceBook, read my Google Reader (that gets me news from 1000 news agencies), checked my PhD discussion forum. All, within the 34 minutes. While I had to stand in line doing nothing, except thinking, for 34 minutes. I tried to talk to the people in front of me. They just smiled politely as if telling me to shut up. This is the smooth polite Canadian way of being being rude, I looked around and started reading labels of items for sale. It was a total waste of time.
I do not understand why Canadian Service agencies do not use electronic systems. Why I had to mail the paper. They made me fill the form online, but at the end they said: print then mail. Why not Submit? Is this the government way to make people busy? I am wondering.
When I was driving home, I gave it more thought. One reason I left Lebanon for ever is the waiting I was expected to accept. I remember between 1975 and 1977 the waiting I had to do on the neighborhood bakery. I had to wait hours just to get a bag of [peta] bread. Bread is essential food item in Lebanon. If I do not wait all the way, my family will go hungry. Not because we are poor, nor because we had another alternative. But it was the war. Many times the bakery closed before my turn reached. Many times the zo3ran (what Canadian politely call the bullies) would cut the line and take all the bread. This used to hurt me. Deeply. Because I refuse to fight or to be a bully, my family has to spend a day witout bread. It frustrated me. This was one reason I hated queues. It was forcing me to be a bad person, otherwise my family will suffer. How can you make peace with this idea? I could not. That is why I hate standing in line. That is why I left Lebanon.
Another experiential queue I remember was when I wanted to apply for a US Visa in Dubai. That is around 30 years later. I had two experiences. One experience was nerve wrecking while the other one was enlightening.
The first one was in 2000. It was after a long period of time where I got used to "buy my queue". I had people who would go and wait in line in my place. I forgot the agony and anger the queues give me. But in 2000, I had to stand in line. The US embassy in Dubai want you to apply in person. Whoever you are, you have to be there. Their system necessitates that you stand in multiple sequential queues. The first one before even you get to their building (which was in the Dubai Trades Centre). At this stage, they just check the purpose of your visit. The second set of queues are inside the building before you get to the lifts. In this phase, you have to surrender everything you have except your pants and shirt. You may keep your passport. The third queue is in a corridor waiting for your turn to take the lift. The fourth queue is after you leave the lift, but before you are admitted into the offices. Here, they re-Xray you and ensure you are not hiding anything in your body. The fifth waiting place is inside the embassy, in a big hall where you are seated before your name was called. This was longest wait.
I remember the first time I applied, I left after the 4th wait. I was angry and frustrated. I felt humiliated. I swore I will never go again.
How can I live without visiting the US. So, I tried again the second time in 2002. After 9-11. You can imagine the strictness of the visit. So, before I go, I meditated, prayed, did partial hypnosis to tolerate the experience. I prepared myself mentally, physically and spiritually. I was frustrated at the second phase. I took a deep breath. Recited few relaxing phrases. Did a standing yoga to give myself a boast to survive it. Then an epiphany happened. I though to myself, why am I projecting negativity around myself. Why not mine for positivity and absorb it. This was a changing decision. That is when I decided to "waste the day no matter how long it takes". My mood changed. Suddenly, I recognized there are people around. I am not alone in this queue. I looked at their faces. I tried to think about them. What are their agonies. What make them happy. How can I make them happy. How can I project positivity unto them. Suddenly I became joyful. Then I decided to look at every individual based on who he is... and not how I want to make him to be... it was a value changing experience. Ever sine then, I started believing in individuality. But I still hated queues.
Today, I had to stand in line again. Those 34 minutes made me reflect on my previous experiences. Above all, made me recognize one anger I bottled up all these years. I am wondering, should I stand in queues more often? Is this why the Canadian government wanted me to mail the letter rather than email it?
Another queue, another experience and another day.
