INDEPENDENCE, Mo. -I need to get something off my chest -a confession, almost, you might say -but please, try not to hold it against me.
I preordered my copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I reserved it, in fact, in late May.
Now, sure, you might not see much of a problem with that, but come on, I'm a 21-year-old guy with no younger siblings, no nephews, no nieces and, really, no excuses to be hanging around a bookstore for seven or eight hours on a Friday night in anticipation of getting my hands on the new Harry Potter book just minutes after its official release.
I could have been taking part in any of a number of other activities, certainly something more suitable for a college student like, say, bowling or knitting on the couch while watching a baseball game, or something like that. Instead, I was chilling at the local Barnes & Noble, two Chipotle burritos in tow, pen and notebook tucked neatly in my back pocket, ready to get my Potter on.
7:03 p.m. I stroll into the store and plop down at a table in the café. I get a few stares as I open my bag and pull out a burrito (filled with chicken, rice, blacks beans, tomatoes and cheese, for the record), but hey, I had to get some nutrition before embarking on a venture this crazy, right?
7:24 p.m. I call my friend Kaity, a junior at Ohio State whom I remember as quite a fan of Hogwarts and the fictional folks who lived there. Happy Harry Potter Day
I say. I get nothing but silence until the topic is changed.
7:44 p.m. While roaming the store, I notice a sign that details the evening's activities, including the process that will be used to release the book. Your place in line it says, is determined by the number on the bracelet you received when you registered. The line will form in groups of 100.
I glance down at my bracelet, which reads 82. I don't know what's sadder: The fact that I did, in fact, preorder the book, or that I preordered it so early that I'm in the first group.
8:27 p.m. Craving desert, I return to the café, where the regular menu has been replaced by a special Harry Potter menu. I order a small Witchberry Brew and a Toasted Maggot Bar (which are just fancy names for a strawberry smoothie and a Rice Krispy Treat). I wish they just had Butterbeer.
8:46 p.m. After a furious three-minute debate with my adult conscience, I get in line for Harry Potter glasses, which are being handed out free by a teen-ager named Dustin. Curious about Barnes & Noble is doing to youngsters these days, I ask Dustin how late he'll be at the store.
Two o'clock he says.
Two? Really? Aren't there child labor laws or something that prevent that?
Umm
he says, I don't know.
Well
are they at least giving you the book for free?
No
he says. But I'm getting credit for Boy Scouts.
I can only imagine which merit badge is given to those scouts who sit in a chair for five hours and hand out tiny pieces of plastic.
9:22 p.m. I get in line to make a wand, and wind up waiting exactly 17 minutes for what amounts to two pieces of colored pipe cleaner, a drinking straw and a piece of ribbon.
Yippee! I think upon completion of my wand. I have something that could get the gunk out of my trash disposal. Maybe.
9:32 p.m. I sit down and color a picture of a wizard. Not any specific wizard, mind you, just an un-copyrighted, anonymous wizard with a beard and a pointed cap.
10:24 p.m. I finish coloring my wizard.
Wait. Did I just spend 52 minutes coloring? Oh, that's sad.
11:02 p.m. Still hungry, I eat the second burrito. What foresight.
11:49 p.m. After getting my face painted -OK, it was really just the inside of my forearm, and it was a really cool Gryffindor shield -I get in line for the book.
12:03 a.m. Situated at the front of the line, I'm one of the first folks in the store with a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. After handing over my hard-earned cash, I head straight for the café, where I read the first chapter.
12:24 a.m. A Barnes & Noble employee, whose name I should have jotted down, sees me sitting in the café and asks if I've purchased my book.
Of course
I tell her, hoping I won't have to buy it again. Why?
You have to leave
she says coldly.
Excuse me?
There has been no literature that said anybody had to leave the store after they got their book, nothing of the sort at all. In fact, sitting around me were 10 other people, all of whom were reading their books, undisturbed. Of course, all of them were older than 30.
You have to leave
she says again, blatant ageism dripping from her voice.
Unsure of what, exactly, to say, I just mutter, I won't say anything
I won't do anything
but I can't help but notice that you're not kicking anybody else out of the store.
Just go
