Last night was crazy. I expected a somewhat benign experience that would reward my annoyance with lines with a new shiny toy that, immediately upon opening, would never again live up to my expectations.¹ What I didn’t expect was the bizarre roller-coaster of emotions, and dare I say dramatic conclusion that would lend itself to a blog narrative such as this.

(If you prefer a visual narrative, check Flickr, or for a narrative limited to short 140 character updates, Twitter.)

I arrived via scooter at the Clarendon Apple Store around 7PM. Steve was kind enough to accompany me on this adventure, but I will admit that I bribed him with the promise of Indian food. As we pulled up to the store I was stunned at the line. Every time I thought my eyes had scanned to the endpoint, I found that my eyes had just gotten stuck at a tree, directory sign, or errant child. The line went on, and on, and on. Questioning my previous decision to have the “first day experience”, I slowly scooted by the store for a minute or two before I asked Steve to go hop in line while I locked up a bike.

Bike locked, I reassessed the line. It wasn’t that long. However, with it reaching the end of the shopping center, the (ridiculous) vision I had of waiting 30 mins – 1 hour, picking up a phone, and then running to dinner was beginning to fade. I decided I should violate East Cost rule #34 (“Never talk to people you don’t know”) and ask people how long they had been waiting.

A guy almost at the beginning of the line said he had been waiting for 6 hours, and understandably he didn’t seem to be feeling the Apple spirit. A lady at the midpoint said she had been there since 4:30PM. Suddenly the line looked much longer, and my trouble earlier in the day didn’t do much to persuade me to embrace that Apple spirit so many in the line had discarded.

For whatever reason, Steve and I decided to give it a go. “Just think of it as the DMV,” he chirped lightly.

That decision would be questioned for the next four hours as the slow pace of the line made itself apparent, news that the store would be closing at 11PM (and not midnight) decreased the likelihood of success, and with the announcement that they were running low on the model I wanted. And I haven’t even gotten to our fellow line-mates.

The topic in the line, of course, was “iPhone”, and every one seemed to be an expert. Every outdated piece of news grated on my RSS-connected psyche. I was amazed at how inaccurate the information on the Apple downtime was, but apparently (if Apple store line rumors are correct) the outage also slowed down sales of the new model. Worse than those who were loudly producing an echoing line noise were those who seemed to not know anything about the iPhone at all (especially when they were in front of me in line). “Application store?”, one man asked. I quickly sent Steve to the Barnes and Noble for coffee and busied myself with video podcasts of Ninja Warrior, appreciating my sound isolating headphones.

In retrospect, it is clear that my distaste for those in line stemmed only my own uncomfortable identification with their fandom.  During our hours in line, however, a strange comradeship grew between our line-mates. With each announcement that seemed to challenge our efforts, it was if we were all compelled to discuss the likelihood of success with each other. When the inventory updates were delivered, by some preservation instinct we first assessed each other’s preferences, but quickly began conversations about color preference and changes in the new model. The topic of applications was not far behind.

After 3 hours the iPhone topic had almost been exhausted and we found ourselves talking with a mother named Karen about socialized health care, music theory, and even summer “Rock Band Camp”. She and her husband had been in line earlier that day, only to be defeated by the combination of downed Apple Servers and Rock Band Camp. As the clock rushed towards 11PM against a frozen line, Steve and I both remarked that even if we didn’t get in, we hoped that at least this family didn’t have to return the following morning. Rule #34 had been completely suspended.

It was at about this time that I heard applause. I’ll admit that my first response was a jolt of anxiety that for some reason the Apple employees were applauding themselves on a great first day and were going to close shop. Little did I know I was about to experience the most brilliant stroke of customer relations.  It turns out that as each person left with their new phone in tow, the entire store burst into applause. These customers, having endured the line, not only got their new shiny toy, but got to run a victory lap as well.

My enthusiasm for these people, however, turned sour when at 10:50PM I was still 6 from the front of the line. The anxiety was palpable. Everyone was abuzz with calculations of those in line, the number of phones left, and of course the likelihood of getting through those doors in the next ten minutes. The line-calculated rate of 40/hr said yes, but the line’s momentum seemed to have slowed. Karen and her family made it through the gauntlet, so that was something.

At 10:58 I got bitter. The scenarios of getting my phone at a later time were not pleasant. At 10:59 they let the guy in front of me into the store but I could see the manager making the cut off motion across her neck. We wished him well while I was obsessively thinking about being “that guy”. You know, the one who didn’t get in. I turned to Steve and said, “I guess someone has to be on this side of the glass.”

Then the door opened. 11PM on the dot. “You made it!”, said an Apple employee.

We walked in, and I stood there, stunned, not knowing where to go. The store broke out into applause again, but this time it was for me. Our crowd of Apple people, friends for the moment, greeted us with enthusiasm. Soul pounds and exclamations of relief were exchanged. A couple minutes later the guy behind me was let in and I found myself on the other side of the applause.

“Do you think we are it?”, Steve asked.

“It’s after 11”, I replied simply, looking at “that guy” on the other side of the door, glad it wasn’t me.

About the time we were all contemplating how any of these employees were going to make it out alive, another stroke of genius:

The manager walked to the door and simply said, “10 more.” That simple move deflated the anxiety and saved those who were so close to making it in. 15 minutes later, iPhone bag in hand, a burst of applause started my own victory lap and obliterated any chance at buyer’s remorse. Steve and I hopped on my scooter, ordained members of the Cult, and went to find some greasy late-night alternative to Indian food.

Footnotes:

1. There is actually an amazing philosopher who talks about this. I would highly recommend anyone who is disillusioned with consumerism’s promise read Guy Debord’s “Society of the Spectacle“. I can’t recommend it enough!↩