Out of line

We were standing to take the bus that would take us across the tarmac to the bus. It was a warm day and Goa is going through a particularly hot summer. At least that is how it seemed to me, who finds sweltering Mumbai so much cooler in comparison.

The line was long and the man at the door very, very meticulous, checking every label and tag to ensure they had been stamped.
Early morning flights do not see travellers in a great mood, and we were not examples of good cheer or bonhomie as we stood there, a motley line of half sleepy men and women waiting to board.

He came across from the security check area. He was well dressed, distinguished looking, the thatch of white hair adding to the impression. His jacket was well pressed, he carried a hat in his hand, and a briefcase of leather with brass fittings.
His shoes were polished. Obviously he was going straight into a meeting on landing.

I expected him to join the line, there were four or five people behind me, and about a dozen ahead of me. But he stood aside, and after a moment, fitted himself into the queue. No one protested.

I looked to see if there was a friend whom he had joined, but could see him talking to no one. The line moved, and he cleared the door and boarded the bus.

When I got on, he was standing right at the back of the bus. I wished to ask him what it was that set him apart, that gave him the licence to barge a queue and break it, and what he had gained by doing so.

Obviously the bus would not take him to the plane till we had all got on, obviously, even if he did not wait in line, he would have to stand in the bus waiting for the rest of us. So?

I wondered too, why those whom he had displaced did not rebuke him or question his behaviour. No one seemed to bother.

Was it that it was too small an issue, to trouble themselves over? Or was it that they felt that unlike most of us in casual clothes, he was formally dressed that he automatically held the right to have his way!

His complete lack of concern for what he had done bothered me too. He had walked up to the line and as if we were all invisible or of no consequence, claimed a place in it that was not his to claim, and got ahead.

I wondered too, whether this was something he took for granted. The right to break rules. If he could break one that was so inconsequential, why would he respect one that did not please him?

And the arrogance of his thinking, what caused it? A high net worth life style? A good education? Well, it had not taught him courtesy. The fact that he was a jet setter and could not be bothered to stand in line each time? Not that that was an excuse.

I have seen that lines at lifts are great places to know the mental makeup of a man.

I have seen some truly great men, famous, legendary figures stand politely in line to go up a lift, even if they have to miss the first car to take their turn.

And I have seen some brash achievers who think that their very presence allows them to enter out of line even if the rest stand to lose their turn at the punch card .

Well, I thought to myself as I settled into my seat. If living this long had not taught this man plain simple manners, it did not say much about him.

I only hoped there would not be an occasion for me to sit across the table with him to conduct any kind of business!