The End of the Line

            Ever since he was a small boy, Max loved waiting in line. It made no difference where he was, or what he waiting for. It could have been at the cafeteria at school, waiting for a grilled cheese sandwich and a carton of milk, or at soccer practice, waiting in line for his turn to drill a corner-kick with his right foot. When his parents took him to Disney World, he chose all the rides with the longest lines, even if they towered above the rest, even though he was afraid of heights. There was just something about waiting in line, something about the anticipation, something about the feeling of community, even if it only lasted until it was his turn to do, to receive, to perform, to ride, whatever it was he was waiting in line for. As he grew older, Max’s love for waiting in lines never wavered. In fact, if anything, it grew stronger. In college, he would go to frat-parties just to wait in line for the keg, even though he hated the taste of beer. He showed up at movie theaters the night before the anticipated releases of cult franchises, even though he had absolute no interest in super heroes, vampires, space operas, or dinosaurs. He waited in line outside of stadium box-offices, even though he found no importance in organized sporting events, or live musical performers. As an adult, he found himself waiting in line more than ever, and he loved every minute of it. He went to the bank every Friday during lunch, even though it meant returning late to work. He visited the nightclubs with the longest lines outside their doors, and once inside, waited longer to order drinks that he didn’t much enjoy drinking. He showed up days early for Black Friday sales, but once inside the big box stores, rarely bought a single item. When friends asked him to join them for brunch, he always recommended the trendiest restaurants, and when they were finally seated at a table, he would order only a coffee. He waited for authors’ signatures in books that he never read and books that he would never read. He waited in line for computer software and smart phones that he would never learn to operate. He waited in line for donuts and cheeseburgers and ice cream, even though he was lactose intolerant, gluten free, vegetarian. He waited in line for security at airports just to be told that he wasn’t allowed in the terminal without a ticket. Then, one day, while waiting in line outside a movie studio for an audition to be an extra in an independent film mockumenting the many different people who wait in line for various reasons, a city bus driver suffered a heart attack, causing his vehicle to jump a curb, killing six pedestrians and injuring fourteen others. Max was among the deceased. He awoke in the afterlife, surrounded by white, puffy clouds, in the longest of lines that he had ever seen. “Where am I?” he asked the woman in front of him. “You’re in heaven,” she answered. Max looked down the line, a line that seemed to go on forever, a line that ended a million years away at a pearly gate. “Yes I am,” he smiled. “Yes I am.”