Culture

In a Word . . .

. . . Queue

Patsy McGarry's face
Patsy McGarry
Sat May 2 2020 - 00:30

“Oh my God,” I thought, “keep going. Don’t look. Don’t attract his intention.”

I was out for my daily ration of exercise when I heard his loud, steady, clapping. He was standing alone on the pavement, furiously clapping his hands facing the hospital opposite. “Poor devil,” I thought, “a bit soft in the head”.

I decided to cast the cold eye and pass by. But I had to look, realising again the gift that is good peripheral vision which allows acute observation while staring straight ahead.

Soon I realised there was nothing “soft in the head” about this solitary clapper who now appeared very sane indeed as he walloped his hands with a violent enthusiasm as would do honour to a devout Dub marking six in a row. Next year!

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He was honouring the heroism of those health care workers inside dealing with coronavirus patients. I nodded approval and would have joined him but there was a very long queue at the nearby supermarket and I had promises to keep.

The length of the queue made me wonder whether those long lines waiting at the country’s hospital accident and emergency departments, which had disappeared with the speed of the proverbial snowball in Hell, had simply moved to the nation’s supermarkets.

Authority

This queue was being marshalled by a rigid security man who, clearly, in all his dreams never imagined that one day he would have such authority as allowed him zealously inflict a six-foot distance between us as we waited for admission to buy.

Some, it is said, are born great, others achieve it, and then there are those who have it thrust upon them. The security man came within the latter category and relished exercising his new powers as he barked “two metres/ six foot apart” while we complied as sheep to the manner born.

An exception was an exotically white dog tethered to a bollard outside who barked back, impatient at waiting for his master lost somewhere in our queue.

The security man’s pleasure was most evident when he plucked a young couple from the queue, apparently at random, and sent them inside.

Dissent was soon dispelled as word percolated that they were healthcare workers from the hospital. I was even tempted to clap.

Queue, from French queue, Old French coe, and Latin coda – meaning “tail”.

inaword@irishtimes.com