Song of the Day: China Survival Guide – Rule the Queue Part 3

Posted on February 3, 2012


Captain of Doraemon floatables stares down enemy kids. foto@me

Part 3 of how I Rule the Queue.


Fight Club Begins: My Enemies Will Learn to Fear Me

Jay-Z “On to the Next One” 

Apart from this track having one of the gorgeous-est, sexiest mvs I’ve ever seen – the black-and-white is a genius standout – Jay-Z’s lyrics are gospel in this situation.

“I got a million ways to hit it/ Choose one/ Bring it back/ Double your money and make a stack”

This boy understands raising the stakes. There was some stupid blather about this mv having demonic influences, but whatever. The beat is too crazy good, and extremely motivating in trying times like these. 

Then I glance to my right and I notice something magnificently interesting – a parallel queue has formed. Next to mine. Most interesting. There is but one counter – where do all these people think they’re going? In front of me, that’s where. The charge is being led by a potato-faced woman in a hideous all-white potato sack dress. Her ridiculously long, limp ponytail hangs sadly down her back like a wet cloth. A line of hopeful supporters have shovelled in behind this fearless leader.

I watch her shove slowly but steadily forward. She started off two spaces behind me. Push push nudge nudge. Now she’s one person behind me. Wiggle squiggle squirm. She deploys her luggage cart expertly. At this point I know I’m dealing with a professional. As she comes up side by side with me, I fix her with the most withering gaze possible. She quails, but for a minute, before a lifetime’s reservoir of shamelessness comes to her rescue and infuses courage into her bloodstream. She moves forward – and is now one person ahead.

I ponder the possibilities. Should I yell at her? Should I yell at the people in front of her to warn them? Should I set fire to her fucking ponytail? She jostles into a tactically advantageous position next to a middle-aged lady with seven generations of kids swarming on, around, behind and even under her. (She’s Korean, not Chinese). One of the offspring bumps into Potato Face. PF and Korea exchange looks, then they smile at each other. Unbelievable. I nix the idea of yelling at PF. She’s networking; she’s making contacts, shoring up support.

Instead, I vow not to let her get to the counter before me. I fix my stare firmly on the harassed-looking airport personnel behind the counter. Eyes on the prize, Violet. Eyes on the prize.

Stay tuned for Part 4 and the result of my race to death with Potato Face, where I reveal if I got creamed or was the creamer. 

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