Talking to People…In Queues

I have just read the guide to a literary festival near us and it states, under Queue Etiquette: ‘please talk to the person next to you’. It doesn’t actually specify whether the person you’re meant to be gabbing to is the individual in front or behind you (which could cause some confusion) but it was enough to make me vow never to go to that festival again. If some stranger is going to accost me in a queue and start to talk – well, count me out.

The only person I have ever spoken to at the festival in previous years was – appropriately enough – a world expert on autism, Professor Baron-Cohen. He had just given a talk and, as is the form at these shindigs, I was in a queue – mercifully without the new requirement to socialise – for him to sign his latest book, which I had just purchased (without the usual online discount) at the festival bookshop.

The queue wasn’t long but was incredibly slow. One person, with signed book in hand, whispered to those of us still queuing as he left the signing tent, “The Professor likes to talk!” He does. I hadn’t thought of that. At the last book signing I went to, I said one word, and that was my name for the dedication. What the hell would Professor Baron-Cohen want to talk about?

I began to get nervous. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. The queue shuffled forward and my hands started to go clammy. Perhaps I should just leave now and go home. But then, I looked at the hugely overpriced book in my hand and realised that, without a signature, I’d just wasted £7.99.

I began to rehearse in my head things I might say. ‘Nice to meet you’, ‘Good talk – I enjoyed it immensely’, and ‘I’ve actually got Aspergers myself’. Then it struck me: he was a world expert on autism. His life was spent researching people like me. He’d know exactly the pressure I felt having to speak to him and would understand completely if I wasn’t exactly fluent. End of problem. Except, then I thought: maybe I won’t behave like someone with autism and he’ll think I’m a fraud. How does someone with autism behave in these circumstances? Maybe I’ll come across as too cool and collected and he’ll think I’m an Asperger-wannabe.

The queue shuffled ever closer until there was only one more person before me. I noticed what page in the book the Professor liked to sign and opened my copy to the same page. That should speed things along a little.

Finally, I reached the signing table and the Professor smiled a greeting. At least, I think he smiled a greeting. I was looking at the wall behind him at the time. He tried to break the ice.

“Where have you come from today”, he asked.

“From the big tent”, I replied. And then I helpfully gestured across the manicured lawn to the location of the talk. I do realise now that’s not what he meant. I also added, although probably somewhat redundantly at this stage, “I’ve actually got Aspergers myself”.

Professor Baron-Cohen was kind, engaging, and extremely supportive. I even got his agreement to look at a research paper I was writing. And he signed my book, with my name. As I was leaving I did consider saying something to those still waiting in the queue, explaining the long wait they were enduring. However, as it wasn’t a specific requirement of the festival guide at that stage, I didn’t bother. But if you are ever in a queue at this or any other literary festival and see someone with sweaty hands, nervously thumbing a book, and glancing longingly at the exit, please remember the Queue Etiquette for Asperger People, and keep absolutely and totally silent.