The Queue to Oblivion

You cannot see the other end of it. They make sure of that. A small forest of metal stanchions tied to each other with vinyl straps guides the shuffling masses. I find the entrance to the maze and am about to enter when I am gruffly re-directed down toward the other end of the Arrivals Hall. They must be sending us to another entrance that has a shorter line, great.

Uh, nope. 50 meters down the way I see a makeshift line of people that snakes off behind some kiosks and comes out back at the entrance to the maze. Great.

The pace is respectable. At least steady. But then it stops. A person walks by looking for anyone on a flight at 8am or earlier. That’s me, so I step out of the maze and breeze to the front. The line goes in a door and I follow beside it. Inside I am a little shocked to discover a cavernous holding pen filled with people weaving back and forth. Hundreds. Probably more than a thousand. And as I breeze by them to the front I notice they are not moving. Then it’s my turn to stop. Right near the front of the line where each person gets directed to one of five security screen stations I stand waiting. In an odd contrast to the bustling clamor we should be participating in, all the stations were still. CBSA officers aplenty but all standing idle. Waiting for something.

On the far side of the screening stations I can see another long line of people bending back on itself before disappearing through another door. We are eventually told the Customs Hall is so backed up the security screening had to be halted. We wait watching the queue on the other side of the room slowly dwindle. Ever so slowly. Fifteen minutes passes. Eventually they start up the machine again and we start shuffling. Shoes off. Belt. Laptop out. Where’s my boarding pass? Buckets on a conveyor belt. The metal detector. Scrutiny. Then we put it all back on, and in. And march on to the next queue.

They don’t let you see the other end of the line until you are fully committed. Back and forth a couple of times before we reach the door. That’s when you see it. Another room, a cavernous Hall. This one even bigger than the last one but instead of security screening stations consuming half the space, it is completely filled with people, folded back and forth on each other shuffling. I tried to avoid looking at my watch every minute but now I couldn’t help myself. It seemed utterly impossible that I would get through this queue in time for my flight. It was scheduled to depart in 20 minutes and I had how many rows back and forth to walk through? 9? 10. I start a stopwatch and time the shuffling through the first full row. Two and a half minutes. That’s 25 minutes to the Customs Officer, five minutes after my flight departs. Great.

Instead of looking at my watch I decide to check the app for a change. That worked. The flight was delayed to 820am, just enough time. Maybe.

The shuffling continues and in this configuration of maze I pass by the same group of people ten times. By the third passing I begin to recognize them. I start to think I know them. But I don’t. We are all just passengers in the queue to oblivion.