Keeping the queue moving

An original narrative set in an invented school dining hall.

At half past twelve, the doors opened and pupils poured into the dining hall. Trays knocked against the metal rails and the queue curled past the last table. Before I had finished counting the people waiting, another class arrived.

Behind the counter, Mrs Owen served one plate at a time. Requests came from every direction and voices piled on top of one another. A timer shrilled beside the oven. An assistant called that the water jugs were empty. I expected Mrs Owen to start rushing.

Instead, she moved the serving spoon smoothly from dish to plate. “Next, please,” she said in the same clear voice each time. She did not look along the queue until she had finished the plate in front of her. When a cup fell over, she calmly covered the puddle with a cloth and pointed the assistant towards the spare jugs.

The hall was still noisy, but the queue had begun to shrink. Behind the counter, every movement seemed to have found its place.