The Queue Teaches You Everything

Queues get a bad reputation. They’re the “price you pay” for the ride. The thing you tolerate. The time you try to skip. The part of the day you complain about while you’re already standing in it. But the older I get and the more theme parks become the place where I feel most alive the more I start to think we’ve misunderstood queues completely. Because a queue isn’t just waiting.

What queues reveal about you

Stand in any line for five minutes and you’ll see it immediately, first in others, and then (if you’re honest) in yourself. Do you reach for your phone the second your feet stop moving? Do you start scanning for shortcuts, escapes, “life hacks”? Do you complain out loud, hoping the universe will hear and reward you with a faster merge point?

Or… do you soften into it? Do you look up? Do you notice the soundtrack. The lighting. The little props. The way a themed queue is already telling the story before the ride begins and when the queue isn’t themed, when it’s just switchbacks and concrete and a few sad metal rails, do you still find something? Because even the unthemed queues reveal something important: the people.

In a world where we’re all “busy” and “productive” and one notification away from disappearing into our own screens, a queue is one of the last places where we still stand next to other humans and share the same moment. Whether we want to or not.

Not wasted time, even when nothing moves

Let’s get this out of the way: yes, some queues are agony. There are the days when the line doesn’t move. The heat is rude. The children are screaming like they’re auditioning for a horror movie. Your feet remember yesterday’s park day and would like to file a complaint. The app says 45 minutes and you’re on minute 67 and you’ve moved exactly one stroller-length.

Those moments teach you too.

They teach you how you cope when your expectations aren’t met. They teach you what happens inside you when you don’t get what you want right now. They teach you whether you turn sharp and snappy… or whether you can still find a way to stay kind.

I’m not saying queues are always magical. I’m saying they are honest (and honesty is useful) and I'm saying there are the other queues the ones that don’t just fill time. The ones that become the memory. I’ve had some of my most meaningful conversations in lines. In a queue. Shoulder to shoulder. Moving forward one small step at a time. With nowhere else to be except right there. That’s what waiting gives you: a kind of accidental presence.

The queue as a meeting place

Theme parks are full of big moments: the first drop, the perfect dark ride scene, the fireworks, the music swelling at exactly the right time and queues are where you meet things in a quieter way. You meet the person you’re with.

Not the version of them that’s performing for the day or rushing to the next attraction, but the version of them that exists in between: making jokes, sharing snacks, noticing details, saying the random thing that turns into a conversation you didn’t know you needed.

You meet other guests.

Sometimes it’s just a smile when the line finally moves. Sometimes it’s a tip about which row to pick. Sometimes it’s shared laughter at a child’s dramatic meltdown (said with love, because we’ve all been there). Sometimes it’s a genuine little moment of human connection that makes a crowded park feel like a community for ten seconds.

And sometimes… you meet yourself.

Because when the ride is not yet here, you have to be with your own mind. 

Anticipation is a skill (and a secret pleasure)

There’s another lesson queues teach that we don’t talk about enough: anticipation is part of the fun. We live in a culture that wants everything immediately. Skip intros. Skip ads. Skip lines. Skip the “boring part.” But theme parks, at their best, are built on build-up.

A good queue doesn’t just hold people. It holds tension. It holds curiosity. It holds story. Even when you don’t know exactly what’s coming, your brain starts imagining it. You build the ride in your head before it even happens. You predict scenes. You guess mechanics. You listen for sounds behind doors you can’t open yet.

Sometimes your imagination is completely wrong and that can be delightful too. I once stood in line at Universal Kyoto convinced I was waiting for a ride. We built an entire attraction in our heads: the vehicle, the pacing, the big finale moment. I was ready.

And then it turned out… it was a show.

Instead of feeling disappointed, we laughed because of course we did. Because anticipation wasn’t just a prelude to the experience. It was part of it. The waiting had already done its job: it had made me curious. That’s the secret: you don’t only enjoy what happens. You enjoy the not knowing.

The little queue scenes I’ll never forget

Some of my favorite “theme park moments” aren’t on rides at all. They’re in lines.

An unexpected question in the morning while waiting for Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, the kind of question that catches you off guard and makes the world feel a little more open. The kind of question you don’t ask when you’re rushing, but you do ask when you’re simply… there.

The hug while waiting for Droomvlucht, anticipation humming in the air, enjoying the details around us and the ordinary rhythm of “one step forward, pause, one step forward.” It sounds small. It is small. And that’s why it stays.

Also the playful queues, the ones where you turn waiting into a shared joke. Like traveling with Floo Powder in Epic Universe, letting imagination turn a line into a game.

Phones, presence, and the quiet choice

Of course, the modern queue has a new villain: the phone. I’m not judging. I do it too. Sometimes you’re tired. Sometimes you need a break. Sometimes the queue is truly unthemed and your brain wants a shortcut out. But when I look back on the park days that stayed with me, they weren’t the days where I scrolled through the entire wait.

They were the days where I looked up. Where I listened to the loop of music that sparks confidence. Where I smelled popcorn in the air and felt summer on my skin. Presence is a choice you can make in tiny doses and queues are one of the easiest places to practice it.

The lesson I keep taking home

I still don’t love every line. I have days where I’m overstimulated and impatient and my feet are begging me to sit down. I still have moments where the screaming children win and my patience loses. But queues are not wasted time.

Because they keep teaching me you can move forward in small steps, without needing the next step to happen right now.