Call me Insomniac

Call me Insomniac. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me with regard to cell phones, I thought I would wander about a little and see the trafficy part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly July in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before Apple stores, and bringing up the rear of every hipster convention I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to the Apple Store as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the car. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the iphone with me.




It is official. The black 16g iphone is my leviathan. My Moby Dick. My unachievable object that mocks me.

Today (on a Saturday no less), I arose at the ungodly hour of 8am to travel to the Beverly Center because the spreader of lies informed me and apparently 40 other people that the object of my affection was in stock. We pulled in to the parking lot and headed to the elevator to take us into the mall. Also heading towards the elevator was a twentysomething couple. Now at 8:20am they could only be heading to the Shrine of Apple like we were. We got to the elevator first and I mentally willed Mr. Insomniac to pull a WeezerMonkey and press the "close doors" button before they got on, but he didn't and I didn't want to shriek "close the doors, man! They're heading for our iphones!" for fear of appearing shrill and crazy. So we rode up together and I had to watch them cuddle in the glass box and kiss because they're so in love. I sulked in the corner and kept my eyes on the prize.

And then when we got off the elevator, we did a casual speed walk race to the Apple store. Mr. Insomniac and I lost. Damn that girl and her long legs! (She had a horribly recessed chin, so I forgave her.) And lo and behold, at the Apple store there sit/stand twenty some hipsters and techno geeks. The long-haired guy behind me carries an army green messenger bag with a Walt Disney name tag bearing the word "Dustin" and a "I support the WGA strike" bumper sticker. The guy at the front of the line tells people that he's been there since 6am. There's a suitcase near the front with a sign on the handle that says something like "I am in the iphone line but sitting a few feet away". I didn't see any guy a few feet away. I pointed that out to "Dustin" and he said, what about that sign?, gesturing to the large sign that says "we have no iphones". Huh. We agree that we're all in mass denial and that our collective yearning will spawn enough black 16gers for us all.

Now let me back up a bit. I haven't had a cell phone in about two months. I have no land line. The only way for people to reach me is to send me an email or call me on Mr. Insomniac's cell phone. I wander around like an Amish hermit. Why? Because my first cell phone died becuase I spilled Chicken Tikka Masala on it. It was a Sidekick 2, and though I looked like a tweener, I was happy. Then Mr. Insomniac gave me his old cell phone to use (Blackberry Pearl) when he got the first generation iphone. I lost said cell phone somewhere in my house because I was too tired to get off the couch during my sojourn on crutches. Can't find cell phone. Also lost ipod. And now I'm losing my mind.

Mr. Insomniac dashes off to Starbucks for supplies and I sit and read a discarded Wall Street Journal. He comes back with a chocolate croissant. Well done, indeed. At around 9:30 an Apple Store employee pops out of the door and informs us that they have no iphones. A groan erupts from the crowd. I remain silent for I am used to failure. I've heard the rumors - that you can go to an ATT store and have them order a phone that will arrive in three days. That Manhattan Beach has tons of iphones. I've seen the success stories. But fail. fail. fail. She hands out business cards and mentions something about being able to go to the head of the line. But when the mob presses her for information about when iphones will arrive, she knows nothing. Definitely not tomorrow. Maybe not even Monday. The mob grumbles angrily. So now I have a business card. Excellent.