What’s My Line? And How Long Do I Have to Wait?

Wait Time: Until My Phone Died and I Almost Did

Parched and famished on a 90 degree day, you arrive at the newest addition to the 2,000 frozen yogurt places that have opened in the past three months—only to encounter a 3-hour line around ten city blocks. As you watch the winners who reach the front of the line emerge with their prize, you ask how this place ranks among the best. “It’s okay,” they respond.

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Wait Time: Thirty-three Minutes on the TKTS Line

Tourists wearing matching I © NY tee shirts and backpacks over their chests look puzzled at why we’re all in line. They demand, “Tell me the shortest route to the M&M store.” You provide directions to the Frick Museum.

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Wait Time: Twenty Minutes at the latest Instagrammable Coffee Bar

Fainting from caffeine withdrawal, you finally reach the checkout for your overpriced cappuccino with a new option of leaving a 40% tip. The server watches you carefully as your finger hovers over the screen. You’re convinced that if you don’t tip, the barista will substitute decaf in revenge.

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Wait Tim:, Twenty-nine Excruciating Minutes for the Q Train Due to “Track Issues”

It gets worse. The subway stalls on The Manhattan Bridge for 30 minutes, but there’s still service. You google whether this 6,855 foot 116-year-old suspension bridge is crumbling and whether you could survive if you have to dive 336 feet into the East River. You google: Do rivers have sharks?

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Wait Time: Twenty Minutes for the First Avenue Bus During Gridlock Days

Forgetting that the UN Assembly is in town, you throw tantrums during an endless bus ride to work. You’re so late that the only flavor left on Free Office Bagel Breakfast is your toxic boss’s leftover half of cinnamon raisin. And the tubs of cream cheese have been licked dry by your co-worker vultures.

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Wait Time: Twenty-five Minutes at Whole Foods before a snow forecast of .03 to .4 inches:

You rush to Whole Foods the night before the impending blizzard. The only canned item left is off-brand garbanzo beans. You put it in your kitchen cabinet next to the expired one you bought during Covid.

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Wait Time: 40 Minutes At The Second Branch Launch of the #1 Froyo Store According to Eater

You thought no one knew about it yet. It gets worse again. You trip on uneven cement, drop a $25 cup of frozen yogurt on the floor, and watch a flock of pigeons and a herd of rats fight to devour it.

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Wait Time: One Year

All the froyo stores in the city have closed because of a global shortage of sprinkles. The only one still open is near IKEA in New Jersey. You sprint to your car, but it’s been towed because you forgot to move it for alternate side of the street parking. And NJ Transit is on strike until 2027.

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Wait Time: Two Years

You’ve finally reached the top of the wait list for a rent-stabilized apartment in Bed Stuy. Hurricane Sandy II blows in a week after you’ve won this lottery and your building is on the tip of Manhattan—which is now below sea level.

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Wait Time: Three Sweat-Producing Hours on the Morning You Receive a Slack from The CEO of Your Company that There Will Be Layoffs by Noon

You’re replaced by A.I. None of the trains are running due to a bankrupt MTA and you walk three miles home to see a sign on your building that it’s been approved for demolition. Is this the bright side? You can be the first to buy a luxury 410 square foot three bedroom condo at an “insider’s” seven-figure price.

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Wait Time: Twenty Minutes for the Real Estate Agent 

You’re apartment hunting with a dream of lots of space, walking distance to Central Park, a panoramic cityscape view, southern light, a doorman, gym, and roof deck. Without a job or health insurance, you have a bank balance of $532.09 after paying the car tow fees and unpaid back parking tickets. And that leaves you with only $532.05 because they’ve stopped making pennies.

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Wait Time:, Ten to Forty Minutes at Multiple Froyo Shops

At least there is no longer a froyo shortage. But all you can afford are those free tiny taster cups. You request one at every shop within a 20 block radius of the Unemployment Office.

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Wait Time: Eight Months

No job offers. You’ve run out of welcoming couch surfing hosts. You move into your childhood bedroom in Iowa filled with dusty soccer trophies for just showing up to each game. The closest froyo store is in the next state. There are no lines anywhere. It makes you weep.

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Wait Time: Six Months  

You have a sure-fire million-dollar brainstorm: open a froyo store on Main Street! Bring city life to the hinterlands! Your folks reluctantly back your business plan (with a high interest rate). You paint a triple winding waiting line on the sidewalk. No one comes. You live a life of quiet desperation, loneliness, parent curfews, and Dairy Queen Blizzards. You can’t believe people line up for that.