Ever been in line for a long, long time?

Ever been in line for a long, long time because of one person arguing shamelessly with the receptionist/cashier/person working the desk?

You get impatient—even more impatient. You roll your eyes. You’re annoyed. You glance around, wonder (knowing) that everyone else is just as annoyed as you are. You shift your feet, cross your arms, knit your brows, frown, sigh loudly. You debate leaving, but decide against it, hope against false hope that this is worth it, that karma has your back. Just when you think you’re about to snap, you overhear a disgusted mutter—“Where’s security when you need it?” You turn. You smirk, give a wise, knowing look. In the span of five long, eternal minutes, the fifteen people in line have bonded. That’s right—bonded. Bonded through experience, endurance, and common hate.

Today, the perpetrator of this common hate was a person named Lua.

She was an unlikely candidate for a villain. She was a little awkward, full-lipped, unimpressive in stature, and had a flood of messy hair. She wore a loose white dress and plum-coloured flats. There was a ribbon tied around her wrist. Her handbag was oversized and made her look small. But she had cut her eyes at the unlucky recipient of her temper and her fists were pale and her voice was a sharp whisper, growing louder by the second. She spoke in nondescript, European anger—a little Hungarian mixed with Italian mixed with God knew what. Everything was heating up, a tense sort of escalation that had grown old a long time ago, and just when everything was about to explode—

She stopped, straightened her back, turned on her heel, and swept viciously away.

A sigh of flustered relief swept throughout the entire lobby.

Fifteen turned to sixteen, the receptionist joining the ranks.