Why is that queue over there moving faster than the queue I'm in?

HI there

I was ruminating the other day, standing in line at PostShop, that whichever queue I stand in, it's always the other queue that moves the fastest.   I speak to loads of people and they say the same thing happens to them.  Is there a bunch of us folk who are forever destined to Get It Wrong?  Did the Angel of Good-Fortune tick my name off her list as baby-me, all bundled up and about to be handed over to the stork, was sent off to live my life?

At the supermarket yesterday, I decided to try out my theory.  I stood examining the queues at the various checkout counters.  Mmmm, which was the shortest?  Which customer in which queue had the least items?  And which small-purchase customer did I think would ask the operator for cigarettes requiring the supervisor to be called, along with the all-precious key to the locked cabinet.  All of this kerfuffle would add minutes to any queue-time.  (Oops, am I cigarette-profiling?  Sorry.)

In the end, I decided to go with the new-fangled check-it-out-yourself option.

Alas, it took me much longer doing this than if I'd queued up waiting for an operator.  It was probably my own fault.  Silly me, I had bought a camisole at Farmers just prior to my Countdown Supermarket visit and I had plonked the bagged camisole into my supermarket basket for ease of carrying as I rambled the aisles.  The self-check-out machine automatically registered the camisole's weight as I checked in and then got in a real filthy mood when I didn't run it across the bar-scanner. 

By the time, the supervisor had slowly rolled up and sorted out the problem, all the operator-checkout queues had  become devoid of customers, and-I-should-have-gone-that-way-to-begin-with.  Sigh.

xx

I was wandering around the Wellington Botanical Gardens earlier in the year and found this cute duck family hanging around the small fountain in the rose garden.  I go so gooey over puppies, kittens, ducklings, chicks....

Matiu Somes Island and Wellington Botanical Gardens

As I was typing away about Matiu-Somes Island the other day, I was thinking, "Hey, I must go there again some day."  Well, the very next day (yesterday) became "some day".  It was lovely Wellington weather and I said, "Why not?"

I figured it would only take half an hour to walk "over the hill" to Seatoun Wharf.  As usual, my calculations were too tight.  I couldn't remember whether the big Worser Bay zigzag was still blocked off because of a winter slip so, instead, I raced down a smaller one by Worser Bay school, but this meant I had to travel some extra distance.   I frantically sped, puffing,  past a couple who gave the obligatory passing-strangers "Hello" and nod to me.  "Gotta-catch-the-ferry!-gotta-catch-the-ferry!" I huffed and puffed out to them.  I was hot, bothered, tired, old, and fat and I was racing to a ferry.  I should have given up.

But determination is a weird thing.  It keeps you going when you really don't think you've got another iota of puff and push inside you. I collapsed on the wharf with barely three minutes to spare before the ferry turned up.  A family strolled up to the wharf just after me, looking calm and cool.  My hair was askew, I was dripping sweat my heart was thumping so fast, I figtured I was going to have a heart attack there and then.  I prayed the ferry captain would know CPR.

Below is a pic of the Seatoun Wharf.

I was only just getting over my hill-running puffing session when we landed on Matiu-Somes and there were a few more hills.  I had my picnic lunch sitting near the top of the island (see below view).  It was very warm and I realised that if I wanted to catch a certain ferry off the island, I would have to race like a maniac down to the wharf.  Again, hot, tired, bothered, sweaty.  One sign said something like "Wharf - 60 minutes".  I looked at my watch.  I had 50 minutes to make it!
Well, in the end, it took 20 minutes.  I arrived at the Matiu-Somes wharf in time to take an earlier ferry.

I arrived at Queen's Wharf in the city, still getting over my earlier puffing fit, and looking a complete wreck.  I puffed and panted (again) up to the Botanical Gardens for their Tulip Day.  More hills, sigh.  Still, when I got home that late-afternoon, I felt good, triumphant.