Timmy McJitters lived in Queueville, a town where people were physically incapable of waiting their turn. The baker would shout, “Bread! First come, first served!” only for Mrs. Pompadoo to cut in with, “I must be first, my cat needs this for emotional support!” The post office was a battleground, where Mr. Grumble claimed, “I have a letter from the Queen!” every day for a decade, despite no one believing him anymore.
Timmy, a shy, wiry boy of twelve, lived in fear of the chaos. He dreaded even the simplest errands. One fateful morning, his mother sent him to buy eggs. “Timmy, remember your helmet!” she yelled, tossing it to him. He caught it and nervously placed it on his head—it was common practice to wear helmets when braving queues in Queueville.
The supermarket was packed, as usual. Mrs. Bickers stood at the front, demanding her right to pay first, claiming her groceries were “time travelers’ essentials.” Old Mr. Blunder followed with, “I was here in spirit yesterday!” Meanwhile, The Twins, known for their synchronized queue-cutting, pirouetted in with choreographed precision.
Timmy gulped. Not today, he thought, gripping the egg carton as if his life depended on it. Suddenly, out of nowhere, came the scream. “I NEED TO PAY! I LEFT MY PET SNAIL UNSUPERVISED!” It was The Mysterious Man in the Yellow Coat, whose reasons always bordered on the absurd.
This time, something snapped inside Timmy. He wasn’t going to spend three hours in a queue only to have people with more imaginative excuses jump ahead. He adjusted his helmet, mustered all his courage, and said, “Excuse me, sir, but I was next.”
A hush fell over the crowd. Mrs. Bickers dropped her baguette, and The Twins halted mid-twirl, toppling over like dominoes. The Mysterious Man in the Yellow Coat fixed his eyes on Timmy, their glow a horrifying neon green. The store lights flickered. An eerie wind swept through, sending shivers down every spine.
“You dare challenge the Queue Law?” he whispered, voice echoing as if spoken from another realm.
Timmy’s heart raced. “Y-yes, I do,” he stammered, still holding onto the egg carton. The air grew colder. The man stretched his arms, revealing sleeves that seemed endless, covered in tiny ticket stubs from queues of ages past. Suddenly, ghostly figures appeared, wailing about lost places in queues from decades ago, their eyes hollow with forgotten grievances.
Timmy felt his knees buckle. Just as he thought he might faint, he felt a gentle nudge from behind. Little Penny Sprouts, the town’s youngest at age five, looked up at him with her big, determined eyes and whispered, “We can do it, Timmy.”
A chorus of agreement surged through the crowd. Mrs. Pompadoo raised her baguette like a sword. Mr. Blunder adjusted his imaginary crown, and The Twins held hands and nodded solemnly.
The Mysterious Man in the Yellow Coat took a step back, startled by the unified front. “But… the Queue Law…” he began, faltering as his glow dimmed. The ghostly figures retreated, their wails replaced by murmurs of approval.
Timmy stepped forward. “The Queue Law ends now,” he said, voice steady. The man’s coat began to unravel, threads floating up into the air before vanishing completely. With a final, anticlimactic pop, he was gone, and the store lights brightened.
The entire supermarket erupted in cheers. Timmy was hoisted up on shoulders, hailed as the “Queue King.”
And from that day on, Queueville knew peace. People waited their turn, exchanging polite smiles and nods. The legendary Queue Breakers retired their excuses and formed a dance troupe instead, called “The Cutters’ Waltz.” Timmy, the boy who stood up to chaos, could now buy eggs in peace—and sometimes even milk without a helmet.
He went home that day with a smile and a tale that would be told for generations. And when his mother asked how it went, he simply said, “Eggcellent.”