By Jeffrey Landi

In 1999 my wife and I traveled eight months around the world, including three months in Europe. Naturally we were asked a lot of questions upon our return to the States. One of my favorites is still, "What's the biggest difference between America and Europe?" because to this my response is universal:

Europeans love to cut the line whereas Americans are obsessive about proper line order.

As an American (or worse, a New Yorker), think about how you feel when somebody cuts in front of you, even if unintentionally. How dare they! It is one of the most egregious public violations possible. You want blood. Or heaven forbid you accidentally bump into the person ahead of you. "Sorry" simply isn't good enough. Nothing less than a kidney will do.

For some reason, Americans are fanatical about forming and maintaining properly spaced lines, something I suspect we're quite proud of, though I see it as an extremist facet of our society.

Europeans live by an all-together different "line standard." I use the term "Europeans" in general because we found line-cutting to be a ubiquitous feature of European culture. Interestingly, the farther south we went, the worse the condition became. The fine art of linelessness reached its pinnacle in Sicily, where hip-checking and elbow-tossing are necessary elements at places like train stations and gelato stands.

Through it all, I was able to document two definitive queue-jumping techniques (with many variations); one is flagrant and brutish, the other brilliantly stealthy. For each, let's imagine the common travel scenario of waiting on line to purchase train tickets from an attendant behind the glass.

The Pop-In
The perpetrator strolls straight up to the window and waits for the current customer to finish before addressing the attendant. You think, "Maybe he only has a quick question and why should he wait all this time." Amazingly, you see him pay for and receive a ticket and walk away, with no complaint from the attendant or the next person in line. Incredible! You're blown away by his courage. Sometimes, if you get a conscientious attendant who won't accept the pop-in perpetrator, he'll still remain at the front, waiting, rather than getting on line. This is bemusing. In my observations I found this strategy to be particularly unimaginative and largely ineffective.

The Sidewinder
Nothing cracked me up more than the sidewinder technique, especially when employed by cute little old ladies. It begins with the perpetrator easing in leisurely from the side with an innocent or puzzled look on his face. Usually they are focused on the giant information board above the glass, uncommitted to the line or its very existence. To the untrained eye they are invisible in the chaos of the station's activity. With precision they inch their way closer, maybe even asking a question of somebody far up in line, until finally they melt in seamlessly, like an insignificant tributary into the mighty Mississippi. I found this technique to be highly effective (particularly in crowded situations) and a delight to watch.

Eventually, however, the romance came to an end, and with just four minutes before our train from Barcelona was to depart, I found myself barking at a pop-in perpetrator who somehow felt wronged for being denied the next spot at the window. Two months later we would be in Egypt and India, where the base concept of a line was replaced by a swirling, menacing free-for-all.

It's funny what travel does to you, though. Now we're home, happily settled and doing well, yet longing for the days of linear dynamics in strange and exciting places.