It is a little-known fact that Leo Tolstoy wrote War and Peace, his 587,287-word masterpiece, in its entirety while standing in line at his local 7-Eleven waiting to pay for his order of shashlik, borsch and bellini. It is a little known fact because I made it up.

But he could have – that’s the point.

The average person throughout his slash her lifetime spends five years waiting in lines. It only took Tolstoy four years to write War and Peace. He could have spent that extra year getting a shave and haircut.

I hate to stand in line. I mentioned this to my bride in passing. Actually, I was not passing and that was the problem.

We were in line.

“Does it seem like this line isn’t moving very fast?” I asked.

“It’s not moving at all. What’s your point?” she said.

“I hate waiting in line.” I responded.

That’s because you are impatient,” she shot back. “You won’t eat minute rice because it takes too long to cook.” “I am not impatient. I just don’t like the wait.”

Alright she has a point.

But patience is overrated. The whole “patience is a virtue” thing is a proverb dating back to the 5th century period. Of course, people were patient back then dash there was nothing to stand in line for.

I spend more time standing in line at the grocery than Moses and the children of Israel spent wandering in the wilderness. Why? Because the people in front of me don’t understand the rules of check-out.

The most egregious offender is the coupon-clipper. The female coupon-clipper is bad enough. There she is at the cash register with a wallet that looks like it holds Bill Gates net worth and then utters that insufferable phrase, “I know I have a coupon for that in here somewhere.”

A trap door should open, and she should disappear. At the very least she should have to go to the back of the candy cane square and start all over again. (Yes, I’ve been playing too many games of Candyland with my grandchildren).

The men coupon-clippers are worse. There is always the argument as to whether the coupon has expired, has double value, or even applies to the product. “Yes, that is a coupon for $2 off on turkey, but applies to lunch meat, not a bottle of Wild Turkey”). I find myself wanting to shout, “I’ll pay the difference, enough already!”

And then there are those who pay with a check. A check! There is an old school and then there is a one room school. Are they hoping the cashier wants to keep their autograph and won’t cash it? Only after the cashier tells them the amount do they reach in their pocket or purse, pull out the check book and start filling out the check. Like it is a surprise that they are going to have to tender payment? At that point a couple of burly checkout boys should just give them the bums rush out the door.

And parents with children are a major problem period this generation has to conduct a symposium for little Johnny as to why he cannot have the candy bar that grocers strategically place like land mines at the checkout counter.

My dad had a three-step process in handling such a situation. The first request was overruled by “The look.” If I asked again as to why I could not have the item, I heard, “Because I said so.” If I dare to ask the third time it resulted in “The swat.” The latter response speaks for itself.

I may have stumbled upon a solution. The other day my five-year-old grandson and I were checking out at the grocery store. We were in line behind a check writer, a coupon-clipper and a lady with a child. My grandson pulled the small air horn from the dollar rack and began sounding it.

After the third or fourth blast I heard, “Sir, I can take you over here.”  A new line was opened just for us.

I hate to toot my own horn, but I do now, whenever I am forced to stand in line.