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One of the strangest things you see in this chaotic and badly organised country must be the lines of people waiting. Even after all this time it still amazes me how people, one neatly behind the other, stand waiting in what often seem like endless lines. Never pushing, and surely no passing in front of someone else as that is considered a mortal sin.

People wait in line for busses, for banks, at migraciones, at the supermarket, at the theatre when you pick up tickets already booked and paid for on the Internet, to pay your bills, at the pharmacist, at the phone company, at the post office. You name it, and there is a big line in front of you, of extremely disciplined, waiting people. Sometimes the lines are 3, 4, 5 blocks long. One wonders, does their patience has limits?

Patience is something you need when you live here, and fortunately I have lots of it. Expats with no patience barely survive here and start looking for another place to live as soon as they realise there is no way to escape from it. And there isn’t.

Unless you are pregnant, have a little baby on your arm, if you are disabled or not so very young anymore.

Waiting in line reading a book, texting, calling, kissing, listening to music moving your feet at the rythm, or just staring at the people around you, but there is amazingly little talking. It is certainly not considered a place to get stressed. Nobody seems to care.

Waiting in line is a national sport.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Todo tranqui. Welcome to Argentina.