St Peter's at the Checkout, and There Ain't no Two-for-One
More adventures in queuing. This time I was with my daughter in Sainsbury's. The queue was short, but she urged me to one that was still shorter. I demurred, since we still had five minutes to kill before we could pick up the passport photographs that were being prepared in the shop next door. "Anyway," I said, "I don't mind queuing. I quite like it."
"Ah, how British!" remarked the (English) woman ahead of me.
"We're all just queuing for the grave in the long run," I added, warming to the part.
"I should invite you to my party this evening!" she said gaily. "You'd liven the place up."
I thought of extending the metaphor on the lines indicated above, but before I could gather my wits the conveyor belt moved on, and we with it, to our final accounting.