Nebulous Mooch

This poem was running through my head today while I waited at The Department of Motor Vehicles. When I was eight, I memorized this poem from my third grade reader. I liked the sound of it. I enjoyed reciting it over and over in my head. Sometimes I recited it to my friends, my parents, or my sister. It really meant something to me.

In third grade I didn’t really understand the truth of the poem. It is true though. Someone is indeed ahead and someone is definitely behind when there is a line. The most significant line I had ever stood in at eight years old was the lunch line at school. I went to a small school, so it wasn’t a long line. The cafeteria food was terrible, so I was in no hurry to get to the head of the line.

Today, I wasn’t really standing in a line. I was sitting in a hard plastic chair clutching a small white piece of paper with D403 written on it in bold black ink. Like the other people waiting, my eyes were trained on the lit up board over the door that displayed the number of the next person to be helped.

I was overjoyed when my number came up on the board and was called over the speaker system. “D403 please go to stall number 8,” the disembodied voice said. I leapt from my chair and went to stall number 8. Now that I have a good grasp of the despair of standing in line, I can truly understand the joy of getting out of line. In third grade, I definitely didn’t understand that.