People have an amazing ability to stand in lines. I’m living in Porto these days and I’ve never seen tourism with this volume. Droves of tourists are on every street, hoards, swaths of these people swarm every cafe, restaurants, bar, Parq, street, alley and every piece of public infrastructure that I frequent and enjoy. They’re driving me away because I can’t find any place to sit to think and read and write.

What’s most interesting about these creatures is not their ability to amass of these populous collectives that move around with little grace or order. Instead, they capture my attention with their amazing ability to form, join and and maintain lines. I’m not admiring it, but I’m also not denouncing. I’m just in awe of this strange ability.

One of the reasons I love Tallinn so much is that it’s rare for you to not find a seat at a service establishment. Sure, some places are notoriously packed (Looking at you Levier 😤), but you usually find a seat in reasonable hours. This is particularly valuable to me because I find it aggravating when I don’t find a seat. I get upset to childish proportions. When I can’t find any seat after looking at two or more of my favorite places, I get seriously angry. I depresses me. I’m serious. It’s strange. It’s a weakness of mine that I’m working on.

And yet, even though I experience these strong negative emotions, it had never occurred to me to stand in line and wait for a seat to open. Never. Not once. It’s not that I resist the temptation for some intellectual reason. It’s not that I hate standing in line. It had just never occured to me. Full house? Keep it moving.

I’m trying to be respectful of people, but how can I find respect for this humiliation? It’s not a famine you know. You don’t need this excellent coffee. This is not a bread line in Sarajevo. You have a choice.

You can stand their and trade your dignity for some Colombian dark roast and the perfect foam, or you can go home and make that coffee-like substance that you accept everyday. It’s not as nice. You might feel lonely and miserable reading your book all alone on the third floor on a cold December day in Tallinn. But by god will you not feel humiliated by your ludacous need to drink overpriced, expertly brewed coffee. You have a choice.

Antarah says:

لا تَسقِني ماءَ الحَياةِ بِذِلَّةٍ
بَل فَاِسقِني بِالعِزِّ كَأسَ الحَنظَلِ
ماءُ الحَياةِ بِذِلَّةٍ كَجَهَنَّمٍ
وَجَهَنَّمٌ بِالعِزِّ أَطيَبُ مَنزِلِ

Do not serve me the water of life with humiliation
But give me with pride the chalice of Bitter
The water of life with humiliation is like hell
And hell with pride is the sweetest of homes.