· · · ← This Is a Job?

In Singapore, where queuing is a way of life, Judie Ong has turned waiting in line into a paid profession, offering busy clients a chance to skip the wait.

When a camera is pointed her way, Judie Ong straightens her back, smooths her hair, and slips on a pair of sunglasses and a disposable mask. In front of her sits a plate of stir-fry noodles, steamed choy and slices of strawberry cake, all mixed in a way that looks more practical than appetizing. “Make sure you can’t see my eyes,” she says.

Just to clarify: Ong isn’t hiding from the law or avoiding paparazzi; she’s a professional queuer. That’s right, she gets paid to stand in line.

In Singapore, where orderly queues are practically a national pastime, demand for professional queuers has quietly grown, and more Singaporeans are opting to outsource the wait. That’s where Ong comes in. She’s queued for Taylor Swift tickets, Lunar New Year barbecues in Chinatown and a Star Wars Hot Toys launch, and many more.

Some might see her job as a “waste of time,” or “lazy,” but Ong explains that from a young age in Singapore, “we are trained to queue.” It just comes naturally, and it’s always there. She has been doing this kind of work for most of her life, but for the past two years, she has offered her services more formally through a business on Carousell, an e-commerce platform, where she earns approximately $15 for every hour she spends standing in line. Now 67 years old, Ong's friends and family worry about her health and warn her to wear hats and pull out a lawn chair. But Ong exclaims that she enjoys her job and it’s the “most easy job to get money,” and on top of that, “you can read your novel” or “clear your mail.”

A typical day on the job starts as early as 6 a.m., with Ong staking out a spot, setting up foldable chairs, and bringing along refreshments and shade to last the wait. While you might imagine queues as tense battlegrounds filled with elbowing and envy, Ong says one of her favorite parts is the camaraderie, making small talk with those around her. “You have to make friends,” she says with a grin. 

One of the hardest days of Ong’s career was queuing six hours under the sweltering sun at Sentosa’s Siloso Beach for the Yuewen Music Festival, alongside her employer, who runs the queuing business as a side hustle and calls summertime their “busiest season.” He explained that this kind of hustle typically runs through Telegram and Facebook Marketplace, though most people quit after two or three years. Ong, however, just shrugs. “Rich people don’t like to queue in the hot sun,” she says. “We’re providing a service.”

So the next time you're too busy to queue, you know who to call, Ong will be there, waiting (or queuing) for you.