The long Sunday morning croissant line at Lune moves slowly and never gets any shorter.
Not a single person in the queue complains or shoots a frustrated glance at the time that is clearly slipping by.

The servers work slowly, carefully boxing each pastry as if it were made of porcelain. All the while the bakers roll fresh croissants in full view, like performers in an open air theatre playing to the crowd.

The barista comes outside and takes coffee orders as the people further up the line exit with the distinctive custom made box (complete with steam vents in the lid) because of course if you’re going to queue for a $5.50 croissant, you don’t just buy one—you leave with a box full and a story.

My millennial sons become frustrated. They know the assistants could make the line go faster–much faster and yet they seem to deliberately stifle efficiency.

The unspoken truth is that without the twenty minute wait a Lune croissant loses its magic. That line is part of the story. If Lune was open seven days, not just on weekends and if orders weren’t limited to six per customer. If they didn’t sell out and if you could simply walk right in and get served straight way the story wouldn’t be what it is. The scarcity and the story make the product better. The team at Lune understand where the magic happens. Where is yours?

Image by Enrico Sola.