To queue, or not to queue, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of memcached in containers,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of zone spec failures,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub.