The homeless lined the curb to my right. Separated by an arm’s length, they appeared to be in a meditative stillness alongside everything they possessed in this world. A less orderly grouping formed a horizon of consumer nomads to my left. They were jammed together with no visible breach. I sat patiently in my automobile. I was parked behind the designated white line protecting the passageway of a yellow cross walk. I awaited the green light. I was momentarily at a standstill in the depths of an old urban landscape. My surroundings were in disrepair and full of foul smells. One of the largest cities in America. I recognized the plight of those to my right. I sympathized with their impoverished state, but I couldn’t identify with their current existence, as I had never been homeless or even considered the possibility. I did in fact recognize those to my left. Many were from my own tribe of middle class and probably shared some of my world views. Nonetheless, I couldn’t identify with their obsession of the moment. Why would anyone purposely decided to live a day of their precious life in a static line? Why would anyone intentionally slumber and occasionally sleep on a dirty sidewalk in the shadows of a storefront? Why would anyone in their right mind expose themselves to the intense discomfort and possible danger to await something they could have in their possession almost instantaneously two days from now?
Maybe they believed that the person or group of people who developed a product in limited numbers, to tease their fan base with an exclusive release, would have the integrity to break the mold and produce no more after exhausting the initial inventory. Maybe it’s driven by vanity with an endorphin pay-off and personal achievement high — momentarily being among the first to own the object of desire. Even if the object is only desirable for a fleeting window of time before its built-in obsolescence kills the high.
Queuing for a product launch or limited-edition release was something I only witnessed from my car or watched on television during coverage of the spectacle moment. I never met anyone who stood in line for an afternoon, let alone throughout the night. Then, one early evening on an empty stomach, I was interacting with individual queuers of a queue that extended along two city blocks. I was looking for an obscure Vietnamese restaurant near the city center of a coastal metropolis. I didn’t live here. I was visiting for a two-day industry event. This downtown was not quite as large as my home town downtown, but it was more densely packed. Similar to my own downtown, it featured areas that made me feel a little worried about a safe pathway home after sundown. I was to rendezvous with a business associate for dinner. I was given a street address for the Vietnamese restaurant and it aligned with where I was standing at the moment. I was thinking intensely about relieving my hunger. My mind was not altogether intact to realize what was before me. An abundance of people sitting in colorful camping chairs and half encased in sleeping bags. I had no idea that this throng of humanity was united in a mission of waiting-it-out. Waiting-it-out for what? I had no idea.
I interrupted a guy sitting on a rustic picnic blanket curled up with his serious looking book. He was deeply focused on the middle pages of, The Next American Metropolis by Peter Calthorpe. “Do you know of a restaurant around here called Little Long’s Culinary Cantina? It’s Vietnamese food, but they also make Americanized Mexican dishes. I think they serve sushi too. The sushi’s not on the menu, but I think my friend, the one that I’m meeting, I think she just said that because I really wanted to eat Japanese tonight. Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling …TMI. Have you heard of it?” The rustic picnic blanket guy looked at me with eyes raised. He seemed very receptive and I was sure he was about to point me in the right direction. He paused and then returned to his urban planning book. Two positions further down in the line sat a charming couple. They chimed-in with the answer. They were comfortably seated in camping chairs and played chess on a small portable table placed between them. The man chess player had a friendly disposition to go along with his full black beard and black rectangular resin glasses. He pointed to a small sign hidden behind the single sleeper tent next to him. This was the sign I had been looking for, “Little Long’s Culinary Cantina — home of world famous pho tortilla soup.” The woman chess player threw in a positive review of the cuisine and told me that only locals know about the restaurant. I guess this was a compliment, as I made it all too clear that I was not a local by virtue of the fact that I couldn’t find the place to being with.
Before I worked my way around the single sleeper tent and the two men who occupied it at the moment, I asked the friendly chess playing couple what they were in line for. I also inquired about their length of stay and anticipated time to fulfillment. Up close and interacting with real people waiting-it-out in an actual product queue overwhelmed me with curiosity. Suddenly I had a complete disregard for my food cravings and a rude indifference for my associate who was probably awaiting my arrival on the other side of the privacy glass store front. The chess couple were giddy and terribly excited to share their special story with me. They were here for the launch of a new isolation tank experience. The new Tedoshi Escape Pocket was designed to weightlessly float the subject in a vacuum of air. This was a breakthrough, as traditional isolation tanks involved the sensation of fluids against the skin, and to some degree, there was often a subtle odor from the floatation liquid and structural materials of the tank itself. Sensory deprivation would be revolutionized with the new Tedoshi Escape Pocket. Only a few in line would experience the pure bliss of pure floatation isolation. Most of the line dwellers were here to attend the two-hour keynote presentation by Hiroyuki Tedoshi. Before the keynote event kicked off, everyone could pass through a viewing deck and watch a handful of randomly selected attendees float in harmonious isolation within beta test models of the Tedoshi Escape Pocket. Actual units would not ship until the spring of the following year. The chess couple were real people with real excitement for this unique groundbreaking product. They were confidently driven to take chances, expose themselves, and discover firsthand what was out there for the taking. Although the subject matter of their interest was an isolation and sensory deprivation product, they were in the process of uncovering a new technology and a new product story that they would surely share with stressed-out friends and insomniac family members.
Eating my Vietnamese banh mi sandwich and getting a slight buzz from a yoghurt coffee, I conveyed my earlier conversation with the chess couple (still queuing outside) to my associate sitting across from me. This was part of my apology for being late. She was very understanding and promoted the idea of building upon my recent revelation. She imagined for me, the possibility of interviewing and documenting the people willing to stand in line and queue-up for a day or two in order to satisfy their obsession. “Take a trip across America and look for those expressing their personal passion through a commitment to queuing. Scout and track-down those living in a line in pursuit of the thing that makes them feel alive, the thing that gives meaning to their life.”
That’s how it started. An idea proposed by an associate I didn’t even know very well, but someone who could see the excitement I had for this consumer enigma. Lines forming for things that were not essential to life. Queuing for items that could be pre-ordered online. Committing whole days in pursuit of objects, which would take minutes to acquire a few days later after the hysteria subsided. I had my two weeks of vacation approaching and I could tack-on additional days under sick leave. That was enough time to travel the country and visit cities I had never been to. The first step of my mission was to create a map of product launches, product releases, sample sales, restaurant openings, night club events, celebrity book signings, and industry conventions. I was going to meet the people who had the stamina for the stuff they loved, or the thing they believed they should love at that moment in their life.
The following are five select interview summaries from my travels to meet those who queue. Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those who called into work sick and endured exceptionally long lines through challenging weather conditions.
#1 Parker Dahlman >
I approached a line of darkly dressed hipsters and fashionably sleek party people. They queued beneath the yellow haze of streetlights along a sloped street in the shadows of the city’s financial district. Their endless black centipede formation disappeared into an alley behind single story storefronts. The tail of their line creation reemerged in the midst of a Jack in the Box parking lot. It was about two o’clock in the morning when I approached the mid-section of the line within the alley. I was greeted by cold glances when I inquired about the scene that awaited these patient young patrons. That’s when Parker Dahlman stepped out of the line to introduce himself and the small pack of friends he was queuing with.
Parker’s primary work was testing video games for a software developer. He boogied and bobbed on weekends as a motivational dancer for a local DJ at teen parties. Tonight, Parker would dance for his own enjoyment. His motivation was the unique atmosphere of Club Nixon. The doors of Club Nixon were approximately two hundred feet from Parker’s current position in line. He estimated the time of arrival for his fun time friends to drink and dance until dawn to be no later than three in the morning. Parker waved and laughed at others in the queue. He assured me that boredom and frustration were far from the forefront of their collective mindset. For Parker and his friends, the promise of Club Nixon was felt throughout the queue.
Some vaped and others toked. I took a sip of Johnny Walker from a titanium camping flask. I passed on the mollies and other merchandise that came my way. Two girls in front of Parker were clearly riding the wave, and their boyfriends were so hopped up, they’d surely come down and catch a nap once inside the club. This was not the family amusement park line, but there was community. People talked about the artists that inspired them and who was on tour in what cities.
Parker saw the line as a single continuum of the Club Nixon experience. Of course, he wanted to reach his destination, but his elation was the interactions and connections occurring up and down the line and among a thousand souls with a common cause.
#2 Sally Ann Bianchi >
The mall opened at nine o’clock in the morning. A line of citizens covered in layers of warm clothing took positions outside the great shopping center well before four. Near the mall’s main entrance, a placard and stanchions provided guidelines for the predawn bargain hunters to organize themselves by. These dedicated shoppers were here for a sample sale. They shared the same mind set, knew the unspoken rules, and would adhere to a shopper’s honor code of cordial chit-chat with no line infractions. Later in the morning, when they crossed the barrier between the mall’s common area and the official threshold of the actual store, all bets were off.
This was the setting for a winter morning raid on a very odd trend. A fresh fashion trend headed up by the innovator and category founder, Food Treasure. This one of a kind store, which stood five doors down from Nordstrom on the second floor, was not selling food. They were selling women’s apparel with food embedded in the fabric. They were selling stained clothes. Yellow blouses with large red tomato splatters. White pleated skirts infused with an assortment of jelly spots from strawberry to apricot. Light blue blazers drenched in an epic explosion of espresso across the front panels with accents of Half & Half and cinnamon on each sleeve.
When the mall opened, store representatives migrated the line from the great outdoors to a few feet beyond the locked glass entryway of Food Treasure. Mostly made up of women, the throng of potential buyers extended down a staircase, through the mall’s main doors, and then back outside. Food Treasure management would not open their doors for another two hours. The sample sale was schedule to begin at eleven thirty. Inside this window of time, I met Sally Ann Bianchi who explained the obsession and mania for the soiled merchandise of Food Treasure.
“After millennia of societal preoccupation with keeping the garments we adorn ourselves with tidy and clean, we have been liberated! Food Treasure offers us a choice. A better way forward. We can now choose to wear a garment that says I made a mess and I’m cool with that. At a base level, I can walk out of my home with stains on my pant suit and jacket, and feel free to augment throughout my working day with additional spills and splashes. There are no more accidents when I wear outfits from Food Treasure. There are only enhancements.”
As Sally Ann preached, there was support up and down the mall staircase. A woman upstream reminded us, that while we may have been brought into this world slightly pressed and folded, we were not clean, nor were we germ free and ocean breeze scented. I tried to turn the conversation to the line itself, which snaked through two levels and extended from interior to exterior. I was misguided in trying to uncover the degree of individual commitment associated with waiting in line or justification for the sacrifice of time. I was way off. This was a micro-cult of fervent consumer advocates attempting to convert me and bring me into their tribe. For Sally Ann, the sample sale was a biannual pilgrimage to commemorate the end of a celebrated seasonal inventory. An affirmation of her complete devotion to Food Treasure. Sally Ann was part of a unique consumer congregation awaiting their high holy day. The early morning waiting and lingering in line confirmed the importance of her love for the tarnished-by-design clothing of Food Treasure.
#3 Les Desmond >
Another conspiracy book on the assassination of JFK. In this rendition of exciting new theories, it turns out that the key operatives are in fact an alien nation from a not too distant star system. The author is a veteran science fiction writer. There’s only a single chapter connecting the bulk of the book’s story to the JFK assassination. Nonetheless, the publisher decided to lean into the JFK brand for the book’s jacket and all promotions associated with marketing and distribution of the twisted sci-fi thriller.
The book brings me to a small Midwestern town to visit the second largest tenant of a modern looking outdoor shopping center. Meijer grocery store is the giant anchor and an essential weekly pit stop for local folks, but Buford’s Bed + Books provides an experience for everyone in the state and serves as a tourism treat for out-of-towners. It’s a mash-up concept of selling box springs, mattresses and bedframes alongside an inventory of books that rivals any mid-size Barnes & Noble. Guest can read passages from their favorite literature while reclining on their future sleeping apparatus. If you fall asleep at Buford’s, you’ll awake to a smooth-talking sales person. Installation is included, and delivery is free. And that book or magazine that induced your in-store nap — well that’s gratis, compliments of Buford and his lovely family.
Buford’s Bed + Books closed at eight o’clock Friday evening. Some shoppers stuck around as the outdoor shopping center wound down. Saturday morning uncovered an unwieldly queue along Buford’s storefront, past the wide walkways of the giant Meijer superstore, and zigzagging throughout the enormous black top parking lot. A JFK impersonator would perform and sign books alongside the book’s author starting at ten o’clock. Buford’s Bed + Books had promoted the JFK impersonator for over a month and they lightly fed into the book’s farfetched conclusions relating to JFK’s death. According to the book, JFK was alive and had hardly aged since the November 1963 NASA assisted alien abduction. Apparently, a lot of people from near and far caught a glimpse of the promotion or heard about it on a local radio show segment. Word spread with many interpretations of the book’s mini-excerpt used to explain JFK’s appearance, but a common theme emerged. JFK is in fact alive. He is with us, and he will make an appearance to speak on Saturday morning at Buford’s Bed + Books.
Les Desmond is number eighteen in line and he’s a little disappointed. He’s reasonably close to the store windows, but he has to crane his neck to see what’s going on inside Buford’s. His plan was to be number one in line. He was in the store Friday evening and intended to transition to the “line starts here” sign attached to a plastic foldup table just outside of the Bed + Books front doors. He lost his focus and dozed off on a queen size Simmons® Beautyrest® while studying Muscle Car Review. The story on a refurbished 1973 Pontiac Trans Am cost him the top pole position in the Saturday morning queue outside of Buford’s Bed + Books.
I approached Les because he seemed to have a lot of energy and excitement for a guy standing outside the store for almost twelve hours now. He was happy to talk with me, as he needed to vent and release his frustration. He was critical of the two directly in front of him, as they had dressed up as Bobby and Teddy Kennedy circa 1967. Even I thought that was a little bizarre. They carried-on in conversations with exaggerated Boston accents and referenced all things in the political period of the 1960s. Aside from the younger Kennedy brothers before us, Les Desmond held a demonic laser focus on a gentle looking man who stood at the number one position of this line. There were over five hundred people here on the sidewalk and throughout the parking lot, and that guy was number one; the most admired person in line. Les told me that he had spotted that guy in the store at the magazine rack. “I was in the automotive section and he was flipping through Fretboard Journal and Outdoor Photographer. I knew he was just biding his time before the store closed. He was a pretender, just there to begin the queue. The guy just didn’t look like he had the fingers for strumming an acoustic, nor did he appear to have the stamina for an outdoor adventure of capturing photos in the heat of the high desert. But look at him now. He’s got the position and the stamina to manage that imperceptible prance. So proud that he’s number one. He may look still to you, but I can see him prancing.”
Les was fixated on the number one guy in line. Surrounded by Kennedy enthusiasts and over a dozen Marilyn Monroes scattered throughout the line, I was surprised by Les Desmond’s lack of interest in the main event. Yet, the dynamics of the line and all who queued were very important to him. When I moved my conversation with Les away from the waiting and asked him to envision what would be revealed inside, he disclosed to me that Kennedy was not the only person being impersonated by an actor.
Les Desmond was a proxy from Proxy Poser USA. He was a stand-in for a political science history professor. The real attendee would be here in an hour with his wife and two boys. Les was a freelance contractor for the innovative app developer, Proxy Poser USA. He would have received a special bonus and a five-star review if he had obtained the number one spot in line. This explained the anger and disgust he had for the guy at the front.
Les told me it can get ugly in the back of the line when the swap takes place. At some point, the real deal shows up and the proxy steps aside. There’s typically a tremendous amount of contempt for the stand-in person. Les thought this was kind of ironic. After all, he was standing right there, through the freezing night with all the rest. “I guess I’m in the fraternity for the duration, but when I trade places with the actual attendee, I’m seen as some sort of spy.” There were still some residual sneers from queuers up and down the line reserved for the true participant; when he showed up with his family in tow. Les feels that he’s cast as the phony villain and the actual patron is seen as a bit wiser than the rest. Still, the professor might sidestep the line to enter the show and be one of the first to shake hands with JFK, but the humanity and the memories are out here in line.
#4 Nicholas Van Rompu >
On a super sunny Sunday there’s confusion in the back of the line. The skateboard mega-store is two blocks inland on a retail streetscape. The end of the line runs through a tunnel beneath an ocean front roadway and extends out onto a hot beach. This is a very young group made up of pre-teen boys and men in their early twenties. There are some young ladies camping-out in line, but they’re outnumbered eight-to-one. A debate is raging, and a loud voice announces what it’s all about. A tall dude with a deep voice and articulate tone speaks to part of the queue he refers to as the uninformed dumbasses on this beach. “We are here for the JMT edition of Sexy Sneaks, and you fools who think this is about some skateboard design team jamboree should step out and stop taking up the spaces in line and the air we breathe.”
Contrasting in tone and point of view, a lanky teenager named Nicholas Van Rompu begins to agree with the divisive deep voice who was bent on dismantling the line and dismissing so many. But in short order, Nicholas transitions to an inclusive and diplomatic angle. “Yes, we are all pumped-up about the launch of the new exclusive Sexy Sneak, designed by Jaylene Max Trax (A.K.A. JMT). We are also stoked to welcome the Cement Stack Overflow design team. The deal was on a live stream, and Cement Stack’s ripper, Chin Lopez, he put-it-out all over the social. His team is coming, and they’re right through that tunnel and up the street.”
A number of shouts echo a sentiment of uncertainty, but no one is backing out of the line. In fact, the shouting and remnants of the dispute attract more bodies and helps to build a larger line. I was thoroughly impressed with Nicholas. When I first approached the line on the beach, it appeared to be on the verge of a real brawl. The young Van Rompu showed incredible leadership and essentially neutralized the situation. There were two potential events about to kickoff at the skateboard mega-store and three possible scenarios. Either it was going to be an exclusive sneaker launch event, presented by Sexy Sneak, a sub-brand of a geriatric walking shoe company. And in this first scenario, Jaylene Max Trax would appear for the first hour to sign shoes. Or, it was in fact, a jam session lead by the Cement Stack Overflow design team. The third possible scenario is what came to pass. These kids would party with Jaylene Max Trax and the Cement Stack Overflow design team. Exclusive merchandise from both parties was the featured attraction in a raucous retail intersection of creativity, commerce, and art. In the end, everyone was chill.
Between the beach and our arrival at the retail party, I talked with Nicholas on-and-off as the queue was on the move and we advanced toward the skateboard mega-store. He had a pretty good head for marketing and was intensely aware of how these start-up artists scrapped to build their respective brands. Nicholas explained the confusion earlier on the beach. He purposely treaded lightly in his peace treaty speech to deescalate and neutralize a potentially violent situation. Nicholas understood that the retail skateboard store and the two merchandise producers all complimented one another. At the same time, they were all simultaneously promoting the same event on the same date, but with a singular focus on their respective brand. Thus, the confusion. If you were only listening to one marketing channel, or you had limited interest in only one aspect of the regional skateboard and surfing sub-culture — you showed up and got in line for one side of a multifaceted event.
#5 Tricia Jollenbeck >
It’s opening day for a new outlet mall next to a huge truck stop. There was a time when Big Buck’s Eat ‘n Sleep was the only attraction for miles around. As urban sprawl has encroached upon rural America, the lonely long-distance territory of truck driver transports has been invaded by tourists and destination shoppers. Tricia Jollenbeck called out to me as I gazed upon the maze of bodies awaiting the grand opening of a Nike Factory Store. Somehow, she knew I was from out-of-state, but then again, most everyone in line was not from around here. My body language gave away my limited interest in shopping. Tricia relishes in my curiosity for the mutual motivation of those in line. I’m here to listen and discover. Tricia nailed me as someone to talk to. She wants to share her unique outlook and reason for being one body among thousands queuing here today.
Tricia surprises me. She’s not here to shop either. Tricia wants to intermingle with the spiritual release that occurs in times of high anticipation. Where else can she realize such intense hope for limited edition items and expectations for an endless inventory of consumer goods? The unspoken vibe of the crowd resonates across the temples of Tricia’s head. She translates invisible thought waves to help me grasp the underlying intensity of this static mass of human beings. Tricia explains, “There’s a countdown clock ticking away in everyone’s brain. This occurs when there’s a delay in the natural physical movement of our animal being, such as standing in line. The clock resets when our minds wander to the topic of food or sex. Then it begins ticking away once again. I’m surrounded by the ticking, but once in a while someone breaks through and can blot out the repetitive ticking with a desperate thought. Look at that guy praying over there. He’s praying for a blue and pink men’s running shoe with a dark blue swoosh in his size. ‘Please all mighty spirit, please leave one pair of size eleven unharmed and available when my time comes, and I will shout hallelujah as I emerge from this wickedly long line renewed in spirit and my faith fully intact.’ ” According to Tricia Jollenbeck, those were the exact words of that guy’s internal prayer with a few words gleaned from thought waves of a young girl handing out bible study flyers.
As kooky and crazy as Tricia seemed, I could appreciate how she basked in the pure essence of what a line of human beings represented, apart from the immediate circumstance of one anticipating their own personal fulfillment. On some level we’re all waiting and biding our time. When we feel distressed or anxious due to environmental change or events beyond our control, we can find consolation in a small congregation of people we’re familiar and comfortable with. That might be family or a few close friends. It could be others who share our own theological point of view, or professional services specializing in the remedies to relieve whatever it is that’s making us feel distressed or anxious.
Stepping into a line for a sporting event, or for the release of a new technology, or to reach the cashier inside a big box grocery store, may bring about some degree of self-induced stress or anxiety. The long line itself could be the culprit — all the bad things associated with the mental waiting game and parking one’s physical self in a suffocating holding pattern. From my travels to venues where people are queuing for a variety of reasons, I’ve concluded that the long line itself is the counterbalancing remedy to the potential stress and anxiety that may develop as a result of participating in the long line. Being in the long line, you’re momentarily joining in a communal society with a common cause. Standing, sitting, or passed out in a sleeping bag, you’re among others who share your outlook and belief system for this one component of your complex life. Everyone in front of you and in back represents your support network. Everyone gathered knows some part of the history and rituals connected with the object of desire. Everyone believes in their destination to the thing that’s just beyond the gates. Until the gates open, enjoy life in the long line among old and new friends.
