I’ve heard it said that the last three people waiting in any line—at a bank, at the DMV, at the deli counter, or wherever—are clinically depressed. They simply lack the wherewithal to move to a shorter line or the determination to abandon the line and come back later.

(I don’t know if that’s true. At least nowadays, everyone has a phone to distract them while waiting. But I do know that waiting in line is a universal experience, one that anyone can relate to. But I digress.)

But how do lines form? At the grocery store, lines are defined by the number of checkout lanes that are open. A line for an ATM couldn’t suddenly become a jumble of people crowding around the one resource, though they do that in other circumstances, like when standing on a corner waiting for the “Walk” light.

In college, three friends and I tried a little experiment. There was a theater on campus that showed movies weekly. We had noticed that while waiting for the doors to open, people followed the jumble philosophy. One evening, though, the four of us were the first ones there.

There were two doors, side by side. Instead of forming a jumble, we aligned ourselves in two lines of two each. When other students arrived, they automatically lined up neatly behind us in our two lines. This continued until the doors opened, and we all filed in. So we determined that as few as two people could cause a crowd to form lines. It was an example of groupthink, we hypothesized.

(While we waited for our fellow liners to arrive, we had a discussion on whether the correct phrasing was to stand in line or on line. (This was in the Olden Days, when the word “online” was not a thing.) It was linguistically interesting and led to a game we called “Gee, You Talk Funny.” Other debates featured “change for a quarter” or “change of a quarter.” We examined “My hair needs washed,” “My hair needs to be washed,” or “My hair needs washing.” And don’t get me started on what we called the things in supermarkets that you push around and put groceries in. Our choices seemed to be regional variants, governed by where we grew up. But I digress again.)

But back to lines. There is also great debate as to whether someone can save a place in line for someone else, and what to do if someone crashes the line. In the case of waiting at an airport, you can hold a place in line at the ticket counter line for someone you’re traveling with, but when the plane is beginning to board, the jumble in the waiting area becomes a line, or ought to anyway, when the airport employee calls row numbers.

If someone does cut the line, there are two possible responses: side-eye and quiet grumbling if in a more formal situation, and shouting “Hey! Back of the line! No cuts!” in a casual one. (I once tried to yell “Back of the line!” in Spanish at an airport when a Hispanic couple performed an end run around the baggage line. I doubt my high school Spanish held up. They kept going. But I digress some more.)

The premiere of Star Wars or tickets for the Rolling Stones going on sale used to result in lines around the block. People would bring lawnchairs, snacks, and sleeping bags; get to know their line neighbors; and share the anticipatory thrill. As annoying as it was to have to get someone to watch your stuff while you sought out a restroom, buying tickets online just isn’t the same. The most positive parts of the line-standing experience have disappeared—the connection, camaraderie, and linguistic debates. No wonder all that’s left for line-standers is depression, frustration, and doomscrolling.