Endless Lines

Marquel, TPVs NYTimes Moebius Section correspondent, was cutting thin stripes of colored paper, when he read

The Venezuelan authorities detained several executives of a pharmacy chain, which President Nicolás Maduro accused of orchestrating long lines to sow discontent. Marquel read the article, knowing the problem was not limited to pharmacies. Lines in Venezuela are rampant. Many go nowhere.

Why do people enter these lines? Every newspaper has a section for missing persons, “last seen on line on Alvarado street, during the last three weeks of January”. Thousands have gone missing. Entire lines have simply moved forward to nowhere.

Landing in Caracas was easy for Marquel. Getting out of the plane was more difficult. A line formed, which he joined, and it started moving. After a while he realized he’d passed the same guy, named Miguel, three times. They got to know each other. The line had doubled around itself, so they just circled the cabin. Marquel sat down once he saw the door had yet to open.

It seems Venezuelans love lines although the government doesn’t. It’s a sign of failure. Eventually Marquel got downtown. The taxi line was impossible. It ended in a garage. Marquel discovered the best way out was outside the airport where he snagged a lone cab.

In town there were lines everywhere. Marquel spotted a line on the sidewalk going nowhere. There were seven people. No store, no movie, no government office, just a line. After a while the person in front moved to the back. Marquel spoke with him

“What’s this line for?” Marquel asked.

“This is what we call a generic line. It goes nowhere.” He said.

“I noticed you moved from the front to the back.” Marquel observed.

“Yes, that’s Venezuelan etiquette. With a generic line, you need the feel of progress and this line is really moving, see?” He said, as the next in line moved behind us.

“But what’s the point?” Marquel asked.

“First, community. We socialize. The economy’s in the toilet so this is a good way of forming solidarity. Then there’s serendipity. If a line were needed here, we’d be the first seven people. That’s hard to beat.” He said.

“And if not?” I asked.

“If not we’re in no worse shape. The real lines get you nothing. Plus if a line is needed…they’ve got us.” He said.

“Where would they need a line?” I asked.

“Lots of bad shows rent lines to seem popular. Same with clubs. Right wing political parties are always willing to pay handsomely for even a short line to show popularity.” He said.

I went down to the theatre district. Every show had four or five lines. They crossed each other, and moved in spots but I noticed nobody entering the theatre. I approached the line. “How come nobody’s getting in?”

A man turned to me, saying, “well I have no ticket so I’ll be lucky to get in. But with a line this big, you’re likely to encounter mistakes and get in.”

The line seemed to buckle, and veered across the street where everybody, including me, ended up in a shoe store. The salesman grabbed everybody, and nobody seemed disappointed. One man even bought a pair of flip flops.

Clearly Venezuela is out of control. I visited the minister of commerce. I couldn’t get in. I stood outside the ladies’ room and I ended up in the minister’s office by accident. A luck shot.”What are you going to do with these lines? They’re impossible,” I said.

“We are doing our best. We are planning to treat it as a cash crop. We can export our lines just like we did with oil before oil dropped.” He said.

“Who would you sell to?” I asked.

“We sent 300 to Ukraine yesterday to stand in line for food, and another 300 further East to stand in line for guns. They both needed crowds to demonstrate their positions.” The minister said.

“Anything closer by?” I asked.

“Sure. We have even more hundreds at the Mexican U.S. border to make the immigrant situation appear more pressing. And the Super Bowl wants us next year outside the stadium for a week because they don’t think Katy Perry will work again. Apparently she can’t dance.” He explained.

“So you think you’ve got it under control?” I asked.

“Everything except the election commission.” He said.

“What happened there?” I asked.

“Basically because of the lines, there are several new political parties. The Party for a Straight Line, The Democratic Party for Faster Lines, The End of the Line Party. They all went to the commission to run for office and lined up. Something happened. The physics professors at the University studied it. Apparently, and totally inexplicably, the line transformed into a Moebius strip. You know, something that has no end. That line has been there for weeks and as far as we know there’s no easy out. Whoever is in that line is there for good. We really don’t know what to do.” He said.

“No solution at all? Sounds scary.” I said.

“We’ve called Cuba. They have exceptional ways of getting rid of lines. Although they too are stumped with this one. But Fidel is starting to talk to them. You know everything he says takes eight hours. That might shock them out of their Moebius state.” He said.

“Well, good luck,” I said.

I called Mufi to see if he could get me out. He couldn’t. Apparently the planes are lined up too, running out of fuel, and landing in Chile. That seems my only chance. But the line to Chile goes to Argentina.

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 By MARQUEL: Endless Lines