On Saturday I went to the Hyogo Performing Arts Centre in Nishinomiya with my wife to meet her sister and niece who had attended a performance of the State Ballet of Georgia. There was a queue of many hundreds of mainly women (of all ages, and mostly very smartly dressed), being harangued by loudspeaker and shepherded by men in uniform. They were queueing to obtain the autograph of Nina Ananiashvili, now artistic director and still performer of the company, and famous in her previous incarnation as a princiapal dancer for the America Ballet Theatre. I met a friend there, in a state of great excitement at having watched Nina dance, and rushing to join the autograph queue. Yesterday, I met this friend’s husband, and he informed me that she had queued for over three hours.
Queueing for an autograph
Having grown up in South Africa, I can only remember queueing rarely and briefly for movie tickets; computer reservations came there early.
In Israel, where I spent about two and a half years of my life, people wouldn’t queue if their lives depended on it.
I spent much of my adut life in Britain, famous world-wide for queueing. But I find this reputation rather overstated. It may have been true for a time after World War 2, when many goods were in short supply, but now long lines are mainly found outside department stores waiting to be the first to grab a bargain at the start of a sale, or outside an Apple store to be one of the first to get their hands on a new iPhone or iPad.
I saw queues in Moscow during Soviet times, people often not even knowing what they were queueing for, but everything was always in such short supply that a line would form on the rumour that “something” would soon arrive.
But I have no doubt as to who are the world’s champion querers: the Japanese. After witnessing the ecstatic crowds of autograph hunters, the four of us proceeded to nearby Nishinomiya Gardens for an earlyish dinner. What did we see on arriving on the fourth floor, home to the restaurants designed to feed the hungry and tired shoppers, but queues of varying length outside every restaurant. By far the longest line was outside the deep fried pork specialist, but there was not an eatery without a bunch of diners, quivering with anticipation of the feast to follow their wait. Luckily, we had booked, so were shown past the row of occupied chairs at the entrance, directly to our table. Why had the others not reserved? I see this repeatedly. When we visit the local Toho multiplex, we always book tickets online, enabling us to collect them from a machine, without queueing when we arrive, just like we did in England. Why are there always scores of people queueing up at the ticket counter? I think that I have the answer: Japanese people love queueing, in fact they seem passionate about it. Another example that I see fairly frequently is at the Hankyu Department Store where I work in Kawanishi. There is a “Pick-up Bakery” there that sells product from different bakers from time to time: every time they have pre-sliced bread from Takarazuka Bakery, the town seems to quiver, and then people descend on the store from all directions in order to form a long queue that stretches out of the door. Passion for sliced bread, or just another opportunity to form a long line? I leave it up to you.
Queuing for bread