There went in two by two unto Steve
WALKING DOWN MICHIGAN AVENUE, THE CROWD AT HURON IS MOTLEY, but up close to the Apple store, lines are roped off to east and south, security guards are parsing ten customers at a time: who gets to drop five, six hundred dollars in the pursuit of gadget-lust in the half hour to come? The primary line snakes along Huron where horse-drawn carriages stand; as always on this corner, the smell of shit lingers. The rails of the planter in front of Apple are lower and brushed silver, unlike the uniform black along Boul Mich, chiming with the Apple Store’s sleek facing. Black paper covers the front windows until the hour. A half-dozen bicycle cops watch from their steeds. The one in charge wears tedium well, fiddling with the bike helmet haphazard atop his cap. A kid hands out margherita pizza baked like garlic bread. Starbucks has a tent. Three microwave relays are extended skyward. Fox News, Telemundo and a Korean network reporter are at work. A CLTV reporter in purple striped shirt and purpler tie flubs a stand-up. A pair of Obama ’08 volunteers work the line with clipboards, with the best hair of the scene; baseball caps on middle-aged guys is the style du jour. Inside, sales are tiered: upstairs, the 8GB; downstairs, the 4GB. You activate the thing yourself at home, so it’s only a few seconds to swipe a card. Massed employees in black iPhone T-shirts line the balcony, cheering and applauding the tech Sherpas as they ascend, descend the glass-lined staircase. There is a special bag for the iPhone, and most buyers are taking the limit of two. Turn the bag in the falling light and the coated paper gleams. At the top of the stairs, an Apple employee mans a tripod, taping every customer’s entrance. On the sidewalk, a young geek has climbed atop a small box to offer interviews to cable access reporters about how he's keeping the plastic wrap on his iPhone carton, “It's going straight to eBay!” A kibitzer offers “A Chapstick and some lint!” A line security guys sing-songs, almost an auction yodel, “Ap-pullline ends here. Ap-pull line ends here.” Tourists complain about the knot in German and Swedish and a woman exclaims in a Castilian accent, “Un cuadro extremo!” A woman camera tech says the security’s nothing compared to Dick Cheney’s earlier in the day. A cop says they’d planned for 1,500, and estimates 400 people have gone by in the first half hour. A man in khakis and pricey eyewear pauses at the “don’t walk” light. “Yes, and I bought you the eight gig one.” He’s grinning, two compact gleaming totebags at his side as chats on his OldPhone. [Originally appeared in a different form in Newcity, 12 July 2007.]
