The dreaded queue.
We’ve all been in one.
Maybe it was waiting two hours for a ride at Disneyland. Maybe it was camping outside a store for the latest iPhone. Maybe it was standing behind someone at the grocery store who suddenly remembered they needed to write a check.
Whatever the situation, waiting in line is one of those universal experiences that unites humanity.
Thailand, of course, has found a way to make it completely different.
I discovered this quite by accident during a visit to the local immigration office.
Now, if you’ve ever dealt with government paperwork, you know the drill. I expected to find a long line of people standing outside in the tropical heat, slowly aging as they waited for their turn.
Instead, I found a line of shoes.
Not people.
Shoes.
There must have been thirty pairs stretching across the walkway. Sneakers. Sandals. Flip-flops. High heels. Every imaginable variety of footwear standing patiently in line without a single owner in sight.
For a moment, I wondered if I’d stumbled into the world’s least successful shoe store.
Or perhaps there had been some sort of emergency evacuation and everyone had fled barefoot.
As it turns out, neither explanation was correct.
This, I learned, is a perfectly normal Thai queue.
Rather than stand around for hours waiting for government services, banks, or popular events, people simply place their shoes in line and then wander off to find a seat, some shade, a snack, or perhaps a small nap.
When the line moves, they return and advance their footwear accordingly.
And somehow…
It works.
Nobody steals the shoes.
Nobody jumps ahead.
Nobody returns to discover that their flip-flops have mysteriously migrated three counties over.
Everyone simply respects the system.
Sometimes you’ll see a baseball cap holding a place in line. Or a backpack. Or some other personal item.
It’s the Thai equivalent of saying, “I’m here. I’m just not here right now.”
I have to admit, I was impressed.
The entire arrangement seemed built upon a level of trust that would cause most Americans to break out in nervous laughter.
Back home, I suspect a line of unattended shoes would last approximately eleven minutes before somebody tried to adopt them.
By lunchtime, half the line would be arguing about whose place was whose, two people would be threatening litigation, and someone’s sandals would be listed on Facebook Marketplace.
Yet here in Thailand, the system works with remarkable efficiency.
It’s calm.
It’s civilized.
It’s surprisingly logical.
And perhaps that’s what I like most about it.
The Thai approach seems to recognize a simple truth: if everyone has to wait anyway, why not make the waiting a little more comfortable?
So if you ever find yourself in Thailand and come across a mysterious line of unattended footwear, don’t be alarmed.
You’ve simply found a queue.
Thai style.
Just don’t make the mistake of cutting in front of the flip-flops.
They were there before you.
Until next time.
