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I'm standing in a queue. Wednesday morning. Queen Victoria Market. The doughnut van.
The smell hits me first. Sugar. Oil. Jam. It's doing something to my brain. I wasn't hungry when I got here. I'm converted now. That's how they get you. That's the whole racket.
There are two queues at the Queen Vic. The one for the hot jam doughnuts—a pilgrimage, a ritual, a line that stretches past the cheese stall and causes existential questions—and the one for everything else. I'm writing about the first one. Because nobody asked. Because that's the point.
The Queue as Social Experiment
You join at the back. You cannot see the van. You can smell it. The queue moves in fits. Someone orders twelve. Twelve. The person behind them makes a sound. It might be a sigh. It might be a suppressed scream. We will never know.
| Position | Wait Time | Moral State |
|---|---|---|
| 1–5 | 2 min | Optimistic |
| 6–15 | 8 min | Resigned |
| 16–25 | 15 min | Questioning life choices |
| 26+ | 20+ min | Transcendent or broken |
Things You Notice in the Queue
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The thermos people — They have coffee. They're prepared. You respect them. You also hate them a little.
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The market regulars — They know the staff. They're having a chat. The chat is holding up the line. You could say something. You won't.
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Your own hypocrisy — You judged the person who ordered twelve. You are now considering ordering six. For "later." There is no later. There is only now and the doughnut.
The First Bite
You get the bag. It's warm. It's leaking jam. You bite. The jam burns your tongue. You don't care. This is the best thing that has ever happened.
The Queen Vic doughnut is not a snack. It's a mood. It's a lifestyle. It's proof that sometimes the most mundane things are also the best things. My nan used to say that. She was right about most things. The doughnuts. Not so much the other stuff.
Sign-Off
If you're reading this in the queue: you're almost there. Probably. The person in front of you might order twelve. I'm sorry in advance.
If you're reading this somewhere else: go to the Queen Vic. Join the queue. Report back. And for fuck's sake don't order twelve.
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