Queuing "Taking one's place in a line"

I recently experienced a different side to a frustrating cultural difference last week. Sara, a new team mate needs to go through the arduous process of getting her residency permit. As I am the acting team leader I was obliged to help her. I have been through this process a number of times for my own family and for other team mates, but recently a law was passed that requires us to have a rent contract with our landlords as part of the visa process. Before everything was done under the table, so the landlords could escape taxes.
The day started meeting at the landlord's brother-in-law's apartment and being offered the local moonshine, as is customary in certain homes. I declined saying, "thank you, but I have a lot of work to do today". Thinking to myself it's only 10am and wondering if he will ask me a second time to accompany him in his morning binge. Thankfully he didn't press the issue, but offered coffee instead. I accepted and we exchanged small talk for a short time. Soon Sara, I, and the landlord, Dusanka, were out the door to procure the necessary papers for this rental contract. We fortunately found the right people and were explained what the process involved. I had drawn up a rental contract prior and all we needed is for Sara and Dusanka to sign the bottom. When we arrived at the tax office the lady looked at the contract and said, "you'll have to get these signatures notarized downstairs". A quick side note... EVERYTHING needs to be notarized in this country. So Dusanka, Sara, and I head downstairs to get the signatures notarized after being told by the tax lady that this is the process. As I approach the glass doors I see a mass of humanity bunched together all hoping that they can get their documents notarized. We enter the room and Sara and I head, dutifully, to the back of the line to wait our turn. Dusanka on the other hand, having been given a mission from the tax lady, heads to the front of the line and exclaims, "I need these signatures notarized". Sara and I look at each other amazed and perplexed. I'm on the edge of bursting out in laughter because I finally experienced the possible rational behind a Bosnian cutting to the front of a line. You see, they have something to do, and in this case Dusanka was told by someone in authority that she has to do this thing, and therefore, she goes to the front of the line. So the next time I'm standing in a line and a Bosnian inevitably cuts in front of me, I will just say to myself, "ah he/she must be following orders."