Local Vocab: Spanish Queue Culture

At first blush, to an outsider, it may seem that Spain is hardly a country with strong norms about lining up ("hacer cola"). One rarely encounters here the orderly, single-file lines in Anglosaxon countries, the distinctive "queue culture" for which the British are famously fastidious. But don't be fooled. In fact, Spain has a deeply ingrained _virtual_ queue culture, and it is likely, visitors, that you (perhaps unwittingly) have already experienced it.

If you have ever entered an "horno" (bakery) or approached the counter ("mostrador") for "fiambres" (coldcuts) or at marketplace stand, were waiting to be served, and wondered what that person who approached it had just asked you, chances are it was one of the following:

     "¿Quién es el último [en la cola]?" (Who is the last person [in line]?)
     "¿Hay que coger número/turno?" (Does one need to grab a number/turn?)

These represent the two ways in which Spaniards form their virtual queues, and are why they thus feel no compunction about physically lining up, and indeed are more likely to clump together in social groups in what appears a completely disorganized manner. The first approach depends on each person remembering who is in front of them. When you enter, you ask and remember who is the last person, and when the next person comes in they ask and you answer. From that point on, you need have no care in the world about the line until the person directly in front of you is attended to, at which point you prepare to make your order. In the meantime, as the virtual queue ticks down, you can, for example, peruse the counter completely out of line order and decide what you want to buy, or perhaps walk a little ways over (but still in sight of the line) and chat with that neighbor of yours and catch up on each other's lives ("ponerse al corriente") or share gossip ("cotilleo").

The classic turn dispenser in a supermarket.

The second approach, usually employed only during rush hours at food counters or routinely in more official bureaucratic institutions, is to find this characteristically red number dispenser, grab a number or "turno" (turn) and then wait for it to appear on the digital display. The longer I live here, the more I become convinced that this red device is the most important tool for social organization in the country. It is certainly ever-present in daily life in Spain. (I wish I could find a visual of a recent commercial campaign here, for an online service, which parodied the device to make a point about no longer having to wait in queues to be served.)

And once you have your number, look for this digital display to wait for your turn.

And anyone who upsets this neat system of lining up is as likely to irritate and leave locals indignant as one would upset a Brit or American if they cut in line. (Ah, the everyday morality dramas of "first come, first served" commercial ethics.) So, yes, Spaniards do know how to queue, they just do so virtually.

And everything is relative. Apparently one Galician blogger believes that the Chinese
are even more chaotic than the Spanish at forming a line.

But there are exceptions and lapses in this system. The worst case is at airports, where the gate line for a flight can often turn into a mass of people all glutted around the ticket check, no real line whatsoever. I've begun to suspect, however, that this is more because of the presence of guiris than Spaniards. In their time on holiday in Spain, I think foreigners get the wrong impression that it is laissez faire at the queue, and so many a time I have noticed it is the Brits or Germans who are rushing past the line to the front of the gate, which only spurs on the Spaniards to reciprocate… leading to the clueless queue-less chaos. An example of international normlessness, not informal Spanish custom. Now if only they could introduce that little red device here.

"In a rush," to the left. "In no rush," stand to the right. The Valencia Metro's
effort to inculcate in its citizenry a common English protocol.