As I entered my local pub, it was my turn to buy a round, so I joined the line at the bar. With a few minutes to spare, I checked my phone and found an email from a colleague joking about the new trend of “queueing up for a pint like it’s Pret”. It struck me as funny because, well, I was actually standing in a queue. And now that I think about it, yes, it has indeed become a thing.
But why not? Tradition isn’t everything, and there’s something to be said for changing things up. Do we really need to preserve the old practice of rowdy men crowding the bar, all clamoring for the bartender’s attention? What about the quieter, more patient individuals who may get overlooked in the chaos? I had a friend who was tall and good-looking but always felt ignored by bartenders. He once said to me, sadly, “I’ll forever be ignored by barmen of all nations.”
When you really think about it, there’s a lot happening in a crowded bar. It’s physically overwhelming, and it can feel like a survival of the fittest scenario. How is the bartender supposed to know who’s next in line? Imagine being the center of attention with all those desperate, pleading, angry, and indignant faces staring at you. It must require the skills of an air traffic controller or a lifeguard. And it’s a lot to ask of the people waiting in that chaotic crowd as well. Some just want a drink and don’t care about the order, but others genuinely want to do the right thing and follow the informal queue. Mentally, we assign a number to each person in our heads, determining the correct order, which feels morally right and just.
So when someone cuts the line, there’s an intense loathing for that person and the poor bartender who unknowingly serves them out of order. If they’re unaware, they’re seen as ignorant; if they’re aware, they’re seen as morally reprehensible. The culprit is met with glares, while the rest of us console ourselves by exchanging knowing looks, pursing our lips, and shaking our heads in disapproval. The truth is, there’s just too much going on in this system. It’s time to leave this outdated madness behind.
To confirm my thoughts, I decided to test my arguments with Rod Truan, the person behind the Twitter account @QueuesPub, which advocates against single-file queueing in pubs. His account’s message is clear: “We queue for the bus or checkout, not at bars. Show me your photos.” And people have responded to his call. Pictures have poured in from all over the UK and even from different parts of the world. His pinned tweet showcases a notice from New South Wales that reads, “PLEASE DO NOT QUEUE IN SINGLE FILE AT THE BAR. SPREAD OUT. WE’RE GOOD FOR IT.”
Hmm. I’m not usually one to easily change my opinions, but as I scrolled through the photos of orderly queues at the bar, I realized I had been mistaken. Each picture portrayed a sense of despair. In a traditional crowded bar, there’s at least energy and hope. But here, there’s neither. There are short queues, long queues, perfectly straight queues, slightly disorganized queues, and even snaking queues. Some queues are enforced with airport-style barriers, while others seem to have formed naturally. These naturally formed queues are the most concerning, as they wind their joyless way through pubs like sad parodies of party congas.
Rod grimly points out, “It seems to have started because of Covid. It’s like we’ve tossed away a hundred years of tradition overnight.” But I weakly attempt to counter with stories of the problems I’ve witnessed. Rod, a secondary school teacher in Cornwall, dismisses my claims. “It’s unique to British pub culture. When you go to the bar, you meet new people, have conversations, and enjoy the sense of camaraderie. That’s what makes it worthwhile.”
I suddenly realize that I’ve been looking at this issue from the wrong perspective. Yes, our traditional way of queuing has its challenges, but that’s where its beauty lies. When it works, when the bartender somehow knows who’s next, and everyone else acknowledges it too, order is imposed upon chaos. This is what made Britain great. And even when it doesn’t work, there’s beauty in the empathy and compassion of strangers who can see when someone has been wronged. Even better is the moment when the bartender asks you what you’d like, and you, full of virtue, point to the person who should actually be served next. The congregation momentarily admires your righteousness, expressing gratitude with a nod and an “Oh, thanks.” The poor bartender is left as humiliated as an overruled line judge at Wimbledon, but for the rest of us, there’s no greater feeling of righteousness or quicker path to the moral high ground than this. We must preserve it.
So, I stand alongside Rod in his fight against queueing in pubs. We fear a future where unskilled staff hand over drinks from a single hatch, reminiscent of passport control. Or perhaps there will be multiple hatches with a voice announcing, “Barperson number three, please.” Maybe there will even be ticketing systems like at supermarket butchers’ counters.
But how do we eliminate queues when it only takes one person to inadvertently form one by standing behind another? Zero tolerance may be the only solution: employing bouncer-like figures to remove queue-formers and handing out lifetime bans to repeat offenders. We welcome any ideas on this, but let’s not form a queue. Instead, let’s all shout our ideas at once. That’s how we prefer it.
