You filled up with gasoline. The tank is full; now there’s payment inside. You pushed the door and entered. At that moment, two or three other people entered almost simultaneously with you. A line that could be called a 'queue' has not yet formed; the area in front of the register is empty, creating uncertainty. It is precisely here that a small but sharp urge pierces through: the desire to take two steps forward and be 'first.' So what do you do at that moment? Do you notice that urge and hold back, or do you act on it with the thought, 'If I stop, they will pass'? The more crucial question is this: while you hesitate for a moment, if you see that others are also succumbing to the same urge, what awakens within you—anger, disgust, disappointment, or a slow acceptance of 'so this is how the game is played here'?
This scene is small but not innocent. What is happening here is not merely about 'order at the register'; it is a miniature model of dozens of areas you will encounter in public life. The queue is one of the simplest yet most vital inventions of modern society. It is a cheap technology that prevents the strong from trampling the weak: it does not make anyone a hero, nor does it disgrace anyone; it merely ties justice to order. However, if the queue is left solely to the goodwill of people, it will eventually cease to be a queue and turn into a race of 'who is more aggressive.' At that point, a system emerges where the one who disrupts the order wins, and the one who adheres to the queue is punished. Once this system is established, it is defended more by logic than by morality: 'If I don’t do it, it will be done to me.'
What occurs at the gas station is essentially the management of a 'moment of uncertainty.' As uncertainty increases, people rely on their reflexes rather than rules. Reflexes are quick; rules only work when there is trust. What I mean by trust is not an abstract courtesy; it is a very concrete expectation: 'If I hold back now, my holding back will not be seen as foolishness. The other side will not take advantage of this and push me forward to be rewarded.' If this expectation is absent, the human mind reverts to the most primitive yet seemingly effective response: to advance.
Therefore, interpreting 'jumping ahead' merely as rudeness is insufficient. Yes, there is a part of rudeness; let’s not deny it. But the deeper mechanism is usually this: people do not trust the fairness of the system. When the feeling of 'my rights will be protected here' weakens, the mentality of 'I will protect my rights' strengthens. This mentality continuously accumulates examples for itself. If you repeatedly see people jump ahead in line at the register, after a while, even the calmest person will think: 'So this is what is normal.' What you call a norm is not what is written in books; it is what people teach through repetition.
These micro scenes appear more starkly in areas like traffic, which are more dangerous. When a driver accelerates instead of slowing down at an unlit pedestrian crossing, it is often not merely carelessness; it is a declaration of 'territorial ownership.' It says, 'I am passing'; sometimes, it adds a more insidious message: 'Don’t even think about passing.' The pedestrian’s task then becomes not to seek rights but to calculate risks. Even if the pedestrian knows they are right, they cannot take a step; because being right is not the same as surviving. Thus, the rule remains on paper, while reflexes reign on the road.
As development increases, it is no coincidence that there is a visible change in this picture. In developed societies, individuals know that when they adhere to the rules, they will not be seen as 'fools.' In other words, the issue is not that people are inherently more polite; it is that adhering to the rules is not socially unrewarded. There, the belief that 'if I stop today, I will also be stopped tomorrow' is stronger. This is not a romantic reciprocity; it is a rational knowledge produced by the repetitive nature of life. People do not see each other once and disappear; they play the same rule-based game every day. When the game is repeated, cooperation becomes logical; when the game is a one-off and uncontrolled, violation appears profitable.
Here, we come to the issue of empathy. We often describe empathy as a personal virtue. However, in practice, empathy is like a 'luxury' or 'investment': it appreciates on secure ground and incurs losses on insecure ground. In insecure societies, empathy is seen as exposing oneself. If the culture of 'You showed goodwill; let me take advantage of this' is prevalent, empathy will eventually withdraw. Even if people have goodwill in their hearts, they do not put it into practice; because there is a cost to goodwill.
At this point, the biological metaphor gains meaning. Humans indeed come from a race for existence. Consider the fertilization process: millions of cells race to reach a single goal, and one of them succeeds as the 'first.' This reality can provide a basis for the feeling within humans of 'act first, or you will be lost.' Of course, caution is necessary here: directly copying biology into social life is dangerous; saying 'it is this way in nature, so it should be this way in society' is both a logical fallacy and a justification for barbarism. But as a metaphor, it is possible to say this: there is a potential for aggression within humans; what we call civilization is learning to limit that potential in the public sphere. Human nature produces competition; societal wisdom disciplines competition.
So the question is: why do we see this discipline less in some places? The answer is uncomfortable but should be stated honestly: because in systems where rules are breached with exceptions, enforcement is selective, and 'connections' are stronger than 'rights,' people take the person seriously rather than the rule. If the rule is not stronger than the person, individuals develop personal strategies. This strategy often manifests as jumping ahead. Then this strategy spreads; once widespread, it transforms from a 'character issue' into a 'survival method.'
To break this vicious cycle, it is not enough to give moral lessons to society. In fact, it often does not work. Because it is easy to tell people to 'be good'; it is difficult to establish a system where 'being good does not harm.' Improvement begins primarily with reducing uncertainty. The physical and symbolic clarification of queues, the pedestrian crossing genuinely being a crossing, and making violations 'not normal' but 'shameful and costly' are necessary. People should experience that they do not lose when they adhere to the rules. The engine of social transformation is not preaching but experience.
Moreover, it must be stated clearly: this issue is not solely an 'individual' matter; it is an institutional matter. If institutions produce trust, individuals become calmer and more controlled. If institutions produce arbitrariness, individuals become more cunning and harsher. Therefore, sometimes you measure the measure of what is called 'civilization' not in grand words but in front of the gas station. Because no one philosophizes in front of the register; everyone speaks instinctively. Civilization is not about eliminating instinct but preventing instinct from dominating public life.
Ultimately, jumping ahead may be a spark that comes from human nature; however, the duty of society is not to turn that spark into a fire. A person can exist by racing like sperm; but they remain human by living like a citizen. The goal of social order is not to reward the fastest but to keep the next person safe as well. The day you achieve this, the acceleration at pedestrian crossings decreases; shoulder bumping at the register decreases; people look at the rule rather than each other. And most importantly, the individual regains self-respect: the feeling that 'I can exist in this society without trampling my rights' settles in.