So, I just got back from a week at the Edinburgh Festival which, for the record, was absolutely amazing. The place was buzzing and I saw some great shows – granted there were a few that made me want to rip out my vital organs, but pish posh.
Anyway, something happened while I was there that made me question much of what I’ve learned over my life. It left me confused and, honestly, slightly scared.
I was waiting at the venue for the Russell Kane show that would be starting in half an hour or so when suddenly, I felt my bladder was getting a little overwhelmed.
(That wasn’t what “confused and, honestly, slightly scared me”, don’t worry.)
I headed off in search of the toilets , only to find a few people waiting. “That’s fine”, I thought and stood there to wait also.
TIME FOR A SUB-STORY
What happened next put me in a sticky position…more people came in and joined the queue. The queue that it now seemed I was not a part of. I had been isolated from my fellow toilet-goers.
I had ignorantly assumed that it was a mental queue in operation and so stood, blissfully unaware, as a physical queue began to form. I found myself on the opposite side of the corridor to all of the other women: segregated.
So there I was, completely unaware of how to get myself back into my rightful place and it was getting closer and closer to my turn (or what would have been my turn had I been in the queue).
I muttered encouraging words to myself and in an odd and ungraceful motion did what can only be described as a pirouette-minus-the-ette into the line, mumbling an explanation and an apology to those behind me as I went.
Needless to say, it was an uncomfortable few moments as I waited for the cubicle to be free once again.
END OF SUB-STORY
Once I’d finished relieving my bladder, I headed back outside to find that people were getting ready to go into the show. I hurried up the line to inform those I was with of this so that we could join our fellow comedy-seekers.
Suddenly, I realised the line was moving, quite rapidly, forwards. I quickened my pace so we would not be left at the back, stuck seeing nothing but the particularly tall person in front’s dandruff.
This is when my world lost any form logicality it still possessed. I walked past a couple of members of staff, one of whom seemed quite distressed, and heard a little snippet of their conversation.
WHERE WERE THE PEOPLE AT THE FRONT GOING?!
If the queue was moving forward at such a rate (which it was, I assure you), where were all the people going? I honestly can’t get my head around this.
Was the reason this worked purely that everyone in the queue was really eager to ‘get to know’ whoever was in front of them? Were those right at the front being made into pancakes right before the eyes of onlookers? Or was it something slightly more sinister?
I have my suspicions…
