The Great British Stiff: Navigating Queue Behaviour During a Tea Break
The Great British Stiff: Navigating Queue Behaviour During a Tea Break
By A. Barrington, The Daily Guffaw — Rosy 3:00 pm, 2 December 2023
It was a clear Tuesday, the sort of day that begged for a cup of tea and the accompanying peace‑and‑quiet of a queue. The Great British Stiff—sir of the stiff‑upper‑lip, self‑appointed custodian of proper requests—was determined to demonstrate, with no small modicum of enthusiasm, the proper way to make a tea break, sans chaos.
The queue, that noble chain of humanity, formed at the natter‑natter stand near the break‑room. The Stiff arrived, pull‑rope‑spear in hand, in perfect chronological order, fencing his close to the handbag at the turn. The queue was comfortable; the niceties were in order, a person held the kettle, another a teabag, and a third a flint‑capped cup of concern.
Sir Stiff navigated with the relish of one who enjoys a had‑to-stand‑still. “Observe the queue behaviour: it requires consideration, patience and the terrifying attribute called ‘but wait. I’m not uttering the roundness of foam yet’.” His council of queue‑watchers, if such a title exists, nodded in solemn agreement.
Then the Rising Evening Scotch‑Tasters, a flamboyant cluster, marched in, gossiping about the new chai as they waltzed past a bread‑muffin‑coffee‑well. Sir Stiff recalibrated. He tapped a second marker on his wrist and, with a sullen glance over the Kettle's black terracotta, whispered, “Sufficient, for the time being.”
“Odd, the tea‑shop owner’s favourite label for ‘over‑crazed queue‑jumpers’ is ‘donkey‑mastic’. I was prepared to argue with her if the question of ethical steaming were to arise,” the Stiff continued, an expression of agitation flit past his permanent stoic pallor.
The tea break was a mini‑escape, but not for quantity, for quality: The Stiff’s patience was a comical fortress; every tea function, from the flick of the tea‑bag up to the final pour from the kettle (the dreaded “kettle cloud”), kept his mind spelling out WAIT with the seriousness of a Victorian proofreader.
When the tea‑break ended, the queue evaporated like a low fog, revealing the Land of Bereft‑Caffeine. Sir Stiff, stiff‑like his name, bowed his head. “Queue‑behaviour is a fine art—those who dare to break it are inheriting the pot roast staff,” he mused.
Gist: The queue is in the water. The tea is perfect. The Stiff is, well… stiff. Cheers.
