Attack Of The Pre-Pubescent Burger Monkeys

This is just supposition on my part, but I'm guessing that there's no word for 'queue' in Polish.

Or, if there is such a word, the direct translation into English would be 'free for all', or 'he who dares, gets served first' or 'personal space is not a concept with which we here in Poland are familiar' or 'I overtook you on the road by driving along the pavement, I've parked my car over four spaces in the carpark, now I'm barging to the front of the queue, all with no self-awareness whatsoever.'

It's very endearing.

Last day of the school holiday. Originally we had the spawn booked down for school sports camp for the autumn break. For a few magical days we envisioned six days without our kids. In nine years we've never had more than two nights alone without them. On the downside, we would probably have missed them. On the upside, we would have been FREE FOR SIX WHOLE DAYS. For such occasions did Carl Orff write music for choirs of demonic angels.

Pretty soon the bubble burst. Sports camp was cancelled due to lack of interest. I cursed all the other parents, even more than I curse them anyway.

The week has passed uneventfully, as all the best weeks do. Swimming, movies, bowling, Monopoly, Rangers versus Barcelona on the tv. We've had fun, we fell out, there have been tears, recriminations and laughter, burgers & fries and emergency surgery at the A&E. A typical week off.

Today I said that they could go to McDonald's if they used their own money, queued themselves and spoke to the burger sales assistant on their own. They were happy with splashing the cash, not so happy with having to be the face and voice behind the order. However, in the end, when the chips were down and I gave them no choice, they stood nervously in the queue, waiting with trepidation to see if their Junk Food Supply Representative would speak English.

You can see the flaw in the previous sentence. The word queue. The poor wee buggers never stood a chance. They stood, half nervous, half excited about which piece of plastic crap they were going to order, waiting in line. To begin with there were three people ahead of them in the queue. And that was about as close as they got for the next three quarters of an hour. At one point they'd been pushed back to 50th. It was like asking a baby to pick up a coin in front of a stampeding herd of wildebeest.

It was all kids who were queue-jumping, and one could immediately see where the adults get it from. Queue-blindness is obviously something they learn from an early age.

My local Post Office has a ticket system. Get your ticket when you arrive, wait for your number. It's just about the only orderly queue in Poland. Even then, you still get the ballsy few who will try it on. Last Christmas, during one particularly heady bunfight of a line, an old woman approached me and asked to see my number. On discovering that mine was considerably lower than hers and that I'd obviously been there for at least half an hour longer, she shook her head darkly, muttered 'We're not using the numbers today,' and moved ahead of me in the queue. When it came to it, I had to trip her up in order to get back in front of her.

It's dog eat dog. I finally took pity on the kids, let then sit down, and went to wait in line. As my turn approached, I was engulfed by swarms of pre-pubescent burger monkeys. Total bedlam and complete hell. You just can't give someone else's kid a clip round the ear in public.

As I neared the front of the queue and it looked like I was about to be usurped by a gang of five year-old girls, I pulled a smooth move by leaping up on top of the counter and begging desperately to get served. The little girls in the queue had never seen so much derring-do and panache allied to sheer brass neck. The Processed Crap-Food Distribution Hostess was so shocked she served me, and finally the drama was at an end.

Back to school on Monday, but maybe One of Two and Two of Two have learned a much more important lesson this week than they will ever learn in school. If you're going to pick up a coin in front of a herd of wildebeest, get your dad to do it...