We’re something of a fanboy for Apple products, so we thought we were the bee’s knees when we talked Brooks into letting us head down early this morning to the Fifth Avenue Apple Store to interview other fanboys standing in line for Apple’s new iPhone 3G. Even though the phone doesn’t drop until the 11th, the line has already formed.
We were shocked, though, when we approached Central Park and saw a line had already extended deep into Central Park. We had heard a few hardy souls were there for the attention; we hadn’t heard anything about an invasion.
We were also rather confused by the composition of the line. We had rather expected more of us: nerdy guys in need of sunscreen and umbrellas for safety. (Oh, and lots of bloggers; after all, who else can afford to buy an iPhone 3G but can also sit outside for a week to get one but the wealthy blogorati?)
Instead, we attempted to comprehend a line of middle-aged women as far as the eye could see in either direction as it snaked through the Park. They all had handbags, tiny dogs, or both and chatted away on their cell phones (mostly iPhones or Blackberry phones). We steeled ourselves, took out our recording equipment, and dove in to begin our interviews.
First was Phyllis from the Upper East Side. We introduced ourselves and asked her if she was excited for the big day just to break the ice. “Oh yes,” exclaimed Phyllis. “I never thought this day would come, honestly. I couldn’t wait to scoop up Rhodesia here and jump in line as soon as I heard it was really and truly happening.”
(She did not, in fact, have the country of Zimbabwe in her handbag. It was a dog that appeared to be part poodle, part chihuahua, and part guinea pig. It labored for breath in that sickly in-bred way.)
Phyllis continued. “It’s just, you know, I can get any one I want, right? My ex-husband made sure of that, bless my lawyer. But this is the new one and, honestly, can you imagine a better one coming along? So I just had to jump at the chance.”
Another woman leaped into the conversation. “Oh, indeed. If I get mine, I’m throwing out the old one as soon as I get home. I won’t even want to see that around anymore once I’ve got my new thing.” The crowd tittered with laughter and agreement. One woman down the line could be overheard to suggest that hers was too much trouble to maintain anyway.
We asked Phyllis why she got in line so early when it will take so long for her to get hers. “Oh, honey, if you want something, you have to go out and get it. You can’t wait for it to arrive on your doorstep. I’ll stand here as long as I have to; this doesn’t happen every day. We may be women of some influence, but we’re not celebrities or anything.”
A voice could be heard up the line shouting, “I am!” “No, you’re not, Tatum. Shut up and light something.” An expletive came from the same direction and then silence.
We then thought we’d wrap up by finding out just what she’d do with hers when she got home. “Oh, honey, if you have to ask… we’re not leaving the condo for a week. He can tell the Yankees he’s got flu-like symptoms or something.”
We were naturally puzzled and asked again. She repeated the answer with some confusion herself. We paused, looked up and down the line, and asked Phyllis exactly what she was in line for.
“Didn’t you hear, baby? Alex Rodriguez’s wife is filing for divorce in Miami. He’s going back on the market soon and we all want a piece of that. Hell, if he’ll go for that overtightened snare drum of a faux Brit girl from Detroit, he’ll fall all over a proper woman of age and class. We’re in like Flynn, darling.” She turned to tend to Rhodesia, who looked certain to fall at any moment.
We studied the line again in astonishment and slowly backed away. We could now see that the line extended to one of Rodriguez’s apartments off Central Park West. Women could be overheard discussing the relative merits of Lenny Kravitz against Seal, the need to work out to impress him, and how much might be left after the pre-nup.
Our recording proves we thanked Phyllis for her time politely, but we do not remember doing so. All we remember doing is pulling our old trusty iPhone from our pocket, admiring it briefly, and then using it to call the police to let them know a pack of cougars was escaping from the Central Park Zoo.
To hell with this journalism thing; we’re sticking to cheerleader shots and funny headlines from now on.