My father is a bit of a superfan when it comes to Stephen King. We've been to Maine to visit the Bangor area and try to recreate the setting for many of King's works. We've passed by his home (complete with people dressed in constructions gear having lunch at odd hours...I recall the distinct impression they were not really doing home improvements...)
While Dad is a superfan, he's not crazy. He collects King's works. He reads articles about King, watches movies based on King's works and of course buys King's short stories and novels.
The newest King novel, Revival, also marked the kickoff of a book tour. That tour happened to start on November 11th in New York City.
My parents had just been to the city for my birthday a week prior; if you have been to the city, you know that even a weekend trip can quickly drain a bank account. I knew my parents had some interest in seeing Mr. King. I had thought they were planning on coming into the city. But when I asked about the book signing after they had returned home from my birthday Mom said that the budget just couldn't cover it.
I had already emailed requesting the 11th off in anticipation of my parents coming into the city for the book signing event. Instead of reclaiming the day, I decided to go to the Union Square Barnes and Noble and try to get the signature for my father.
"I'll get up early and head to the bookstore and if the line goes around the block, I'll say, 'fuck it' and spend a day doing some shopping or relaxing." That was the last thing I said about the book signing to a coworker before heading back to my apartment on the night of the 10th. I remember him saying that I shouldn't have much trouble..."Stephen King isn't a huge name with young people today, you shouldn't have any trouble getting a decent spot in line if you get there early." I figured he was right.
I set my alarm for a quarter to five in the morning. Ugh. I was damn near dragging myself to the subway station that morning. It was a cool morning, kind of cloudy, but fortunately there was no rain or snow.
My first feeling of setback came when I arrived at the subway station; perhaps because it was early in the morning, perhaps because it was Veteran's Day, perhaps it was because of a Mole Man attack, I don't know, but the R train took seemingly forever to arrive. In reality it was probably 15 minutes. When you're used to the 5 minute rush hour schedule and you're already feeling the effects of waking up extra early, that 15 minutes feels like an eternity.
I made my way to the Union Square subway station and emerged onto the bustling sidewalk. I then passed some nice people handing out free papers and some vendors, trying to get my bearings and remember where the book store was positioned in the square. As I approached I could see some people standing along the facade. Expected; I figured there would be some early-morning people, the same people that would get in line at one in the morning for a Black Friday sale. Having checked the website in the morning to double check information, I saw that a 350-wristband limit was set for the event; I figured a few people in the front of the line wouldn't kill my chances at getting a band.
I drew closer to the building and saw people not just standing in line, but laying in sleeping bags and reclining in folding chairs along the sidewalk. But then I saw it wasn't just adults; kids were sleeping in the sleeping bags. Families. "Holy crap," I thought. "These people are hardcore."
The line filled the front of the block and wrapped around. Okay, I can deal with that. I kept hiking around the block.
...only to see the line continue around the block again. At that point, I was starting to feel a twinge of worry and remembered what I had said the previous night.
The line ended directly behind the Barnes and Noble. I mean, I was literally on the back end of the block from the store; about fifteen feet in front of me a delivery truck was hauling pallets of Nooks into the store loading dock. I had the words echoing in my head repeating my promise of leaving if the line wound around the block, but I figured it was early in the morning, I had shuffled my way through a forty-some minute commute, so it was worth standing around a bit.
It couldn't have been more than a minute before I was joined by some more fans in line. I'd like to say that I remember everyone's name, but that would be lying. I suppose I could have covered up for this by making names up, but that would be dishonest. Well, there is one person whose name I remember, but that was for a separate reason. The point is this small group gathered in my immediate area and we became line-buddies.
I'll sum them up thus; one was a friendly, slim Hawaiian-looking lady, a little more than my age. Another was an older and friendly woman from Pennsylvania, and also joining the group was a younger woman possessing very white teeth who had bussed in from Pennsylvania as well, leaving her fiance' to fend for himself for the day. And then there was Optimist Tom. He was from Jersey City and was ever the energetic optimist.
There was some friendly banter about King books and movies mixed among the pleasantries of social exchange. We confirmed with each other some of the details of the signing; 350 bands, which some in the group declared was silly, since they were certain that Barnes and Noble had handled larger events than that without problems. Indeed, a dark-haired woman who said she was an ex-employee from that very store confirmed they had larger events. I asked if it was a bad sign when a person who used to work there, and had contacts with management and other workers at that store, wasn't able to get a band.
We had another two hours before the store would begin handing out bands, and another 3 hours after that before Stephen King was expected to arrive and start signing. One of the group declared how much it would suck to be number 351 in this still-growing line, and we all heartily agreed.
The irony of this wouldn't be clear until at some point in our waiting a Barnes and Noble employee walked the line and then declared that a guy in a hoodie, about three bodies in front of me, was the 350 person cutoff. A big guy in a dark suit was left behind at that point, as if they were guarding the guy from being mugged by jealous signature-seekers.
I remember suggesting we move the guy they said was 350 back about ten people in line. That would make the line of people getting in for bands a bit bigger.
I sent a message to my wife asking what she thought...should I give in? Tom insisted that we were close enough that there wasn't much reason to give up. "They could have miscounted," he said. "Or they'll expand the line. It's up to Stephen, man. Besides, they say these things to thin the herd and discourage huge lines. I'm staying."
My wife texted back that we'd have nothing to really lose in staying around; we were so close to the cutoff, that it was still likely that a small miscount would mean walking away would leave me wanting to kick myself. That, combined with the psychology of having a small group of still-optimistic linebuddies commiserating together, made me stay in line and tough it out.
The line moved in bunches; we speculated they were pulling people in batches to get their bands. It didn't take long for rumors to spread; at one point they were taking standbys. Moments later, that wasn't true. An employee traveling the line said they had only 350 books and that's why we were limited. Another said it was limited by Stephen King's people, and his handlers were limiting the signing event attendance.
More than a couple of times I felt like it might be worth giving up...but remembering that this would have meant so much for Dad kept me there. It helped to have the linebuddies there too, bolstering spirits with stories of spending time trying to get autographs from celebrities at broadway shows. Tom kept insisting that he was going to have his "nephew", a young black boy sitting in a folding chair behind his father and who kept his nose buried in a football game on his tablet most of the time, learn to make puppy eyes at the store management in an attempt to get into the store. They had to let his (white) uncle Tom in with him, right?
It kept spirits up. Even when the little boy thought we were strange.
As we rounded the corner ("Hey, look guys! I can almost see the last corner to go around to see the store doors!") someone noticed that someone in the line had posted to eBay a "guaranteed signed copy of Revival, with wrist band and promotional event posters, a bargain at $400!"
This got the dark-haired ex-employee very mad. There was nothing illegal about doing this...we suspected there were more than a few people who were paid to get this book on behalf of someone else...but she went up and complained at least twice to store security (loss prevention, I think the badges clipped to their lapels said?) about these horrible bastards who were taking spaces away from actual fans selling his or her book on eBay...before actually getting them signed! The NERVE! It was also a testament to the way we use technology now that I was still far back in line but stood swiping at pictures of the signs posted in the front of the store as part of the sellers proof of event. There ended up being at least 2 books from this event posted on eBay, and they were around the $350 to $400 range; I don't know how much they ended up going for, if they sold at all.
We were all sort of lamenting the fact that we were so close to the cutoff. Younger girl wondered if she had just taken the earlier bus, would she have made it? If she didn't spend time prepping her hair, shaving a few minutes off the travel time? Tom, from Jersey City, said he stopped and gave a homeless guy some money and he had dawdled a bit coming in...did that extra few minutes cost him his spot? I wasn't sure if he was kidding, but given his plucky positive attitude I couldn't rule it out. I lamented if I had been a few minutes earlier, maybe I wouldn't have had to wait 15 minutes for the subway; I could have made an earlier one, and that five minutes would have been enough to have been in front of the cutoff for a guaranteed band. Dammit.
But we were still in remarkably good spirits as a group. Tom kept giving us hope. I kept thinking we were in that horrible spot where the cutoff was so close that if, if, they decided to take a few more people, I'd be in that group. Or maybe we'd see Stephen King, and I could at least snap a photo for my Dad. Needed to be able to tell him that I tried.
I think that was the most important part. I had taken a vacation day, I was there, and I needed to be able to tell my Dad that I gave it my honest to goodness best shot at getting this signature. He deserved it.
I was surprised, though, at the number of people who had beaten me to a spot in line. The rumor traveling the line was that people had lined up there at 2:30 the previous fucking afternoon. That would mean that by the time they got their signed book it would be nearly a day of waiting. And they had families in line. Some in our linebuddies group drew a line at having kids sleep out on the sidewalk in NYC overnight. These were definitely hardcore fans, a notch above what I would call Superfans. I considered my Dad a superfan. I don't think he'd camp out all night on a sidewalk to have less than a minute of facetime with Stephen King.
Granted, this was a special book tour stop. King was signing in NYC. Not reading. Not visiting. No posed photos. No personalized signing. You were in line, you were marching forward, you went on stage, he said hi (if you were lucky) and you were hustled out. I looked at his upcoming stops on the book tour; the next day he was in Washington, DC, where King would do a reading and brief Q&A but no signing. Some pre-signed copies would be given out at random, and you had to buy tickets. The next night, the 13th, was another "not book signing" in Kansas City with some randomly signed copies given out at random. The 14th he was in Wichita, and again it was not a book signing with desperate fans hoping to get one of the random copies given away. The 15th King was in Austin, Texas, and it was finally a signing event. Ticketed. And it said that one person cannot buy multiple tickets for people other than themselves, and had to purchase the ticket in person. His last stop had King near his home in Maine on the 17th, and this was a book signing as well. Basically, not every event was a signing event, and NYC being a kickoff and signing was pretty good luck for me to even be close to achieving.
But really, 2:30 in the afternoon, the previous day? Those were people I would think King was afraid of meeting. Had I known there was a proto-lineup starting that early I wonder if I would have figured it was futile to even try getting there in the first place for the line. Ignorance of these...uber-fans...probably got me in line in the first place.
Another bit of debate in the line involved how long the event would go on. We knew King was slated to sign starting at noon. Some said he would sign until four; someone else said he'd be only around until two. Supposedly that was why the number of wristbands were so limited. This still gave Tom hope-fuel..."Stephen may let other people in if he has time. It's really up to him how many books he'll sign, you know. Not the store."
Once we reached the door, we were cut off. There was probably two people in front of me at the point when the security people and Barnes and Noble staff announced that they had reached the 350 cutoff. I remember these two guys...they spoke and dressed as if they were from a stereotypical old-timey Italian Brooklyn neighborhood, with smoking, hoodie jacket, large cross hanging from the neck and heavy accent, where one was allowed in and the other argued that he was there for his friend because he suffered extreme anxiety, and they had to go together. I think he somehow snuck in because he disappeared. Really they were pushy jackasses. But if there's something I discovered living here, it's that being a pushy jackass doesn't win you friends but does often give you opportunities.
This was the biggest test time. Store security came out and told us everything short of "go home." Of course, they couldn't really tell us that, because as I recall from Occupy Wall Street if you weren't blocking people trying to walk along the sidewalks and you weren't blocking access to other businesses, the sidewalks are more or less considered public space. If you didn't mind sitting on little circles of blackened, hardened bubblegum and spots of sidewalk that may or may not also have dried spit and urine, you're allowed to just sit there.
One of the exchanges had a security guy telling us point blank, "There is no standby line. There is no reason for you to form a line."
To which Tom replied, "But we're going to anyway!"
At one point the security people said that we were not going to get near the event. The store even posted signs that said the fourth floor was cut off, and if we wanted a book located on that floor a bookseller had to assist customers. But we were not going to get near the event. Subtext: go home.
"Was this from Stephen's people?," asked Tom.
"This is from management."
"The book store doesn't know what they're talking about. Stephen will tell us to go home."
Oh, Optimist Tom. At this point, our group had largely taken turns going in and buying a copy of Revival. One of the sweet older ladies turned to me and asked if I'd go in and get a book. "You don't want them to come out and say we can go in, but you have to have a book, and you didn't have a book, do you?," she said. I was tired and aching from waiting several hours on my feet (I debated sitting for a spell, but I really didn't want to get that hardened gum crap on my pants...) but, as she pointed out, I could return the book if things didn't work out. I remembered I had a B&N gift card...I figured I had nothing to really lose in getting a book. You know, just in case. So I did.
I hobbled back out to what remained of the line. Most people had given up and left, so the line had dwindled until it extended only to the end of some scaffolding that terminated before the entrance to a store next to a restaurant that was called something like the Red Line or Red End. I don't really recall the proper name, just a red canopy that extended over part of the sidewalk.
"At this point," I said, "We can keep waiting and hope we get in, we could go around back and see if Stephen King is coming in that way...maybe get a picture of him. Or we could leave." I think this sentiment was kind of stirring in many who were left outside, after having been told repeatedly by store employees that we were not going to get in and that was the end of the story.
I remember Tom was getting kind of antsy. He had left a couple times from line to talk to his friends that were farther back and to use the bathroom in different stores. He disappeared while we were under the scaffolding to look around the back of the store and see if Stephen King were coming in through the loading dock entrance.
It was at this time that an employee came out and said they were taking 12 more people.
A member of our linebuddies club squealed with joy. Someone tried to have them get Tom, as he would no doubt be back soon, but management wasn't having it. They counted us out and ushered us in. And funny enough, before letting us up the guarded escalator, they asked if we had a copy of the book because we needed to have one to sign. I had fortunately listened to their advice.
They ushered us up to the fourth floor and made us stand in the back next to a life-sized LEGO Batman. I know...strange. but nonetheless we were there. We made it.
The store never quite seemed to have everyone on the same page. We were asked twice if we had wristbands. Er...no? You had someone specifically bring us up...why do you not know that?
Multiple times while down in line we were given different stories of what was going on; where limits came from, how many books there were, etc. The left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing, and this confusion was part of what I think Tom could use as hope-fuel. It was funny as hell to me to hear him say the store didn't know what they were talking about and surely Mr. King would have final word, and hopefully he would take pity on the people standing outside.
We were all sad upstairs when we speculated on Tom's fate. We hoped that he had met King in the back of the store entrance, maybe got a photo with him. There was an irrational sense of pity and we told ourselves this story to comfort ourselves, that we didn't abandon a fair-weather friend.
After standing around for ten or fifteen minutes, we were told to move up to the end of the line for the book signing because they were bringing up another batch of people. Another batch! The line was moving pretty fast, too. King wasn't dawdling. A book slid in front of him, he wrote his name, and in barely enough time to acknowledge the fan with a courteous howdy, the book was handed back over and the fan was ushered away to the 3rd floor escalator. I had never seen the seats empty so quickly; Stephen King may be getting older, but damn, he was a fast signer.
It took several minutes before the next group of people arrived. I looked over and said, "Tom's here!"
There was a cheer from our group. Loud enough that surely the people in the front probably wondered what happened. Tom jumped up and down as we waved; "Hey guys! I got back and the line was all different!"
"We tried to save you a spot, they wouldn't let us!," said one of our buddy group.
"That's okay!" he called back. "It wasn't your fault!"
I turned to the younger girl in the group and said, "He's the most optimistic son of a bitch I've ever met. He's the only one that I'm fairly certain returned to see that much of the group had been taken in, and instead of being crushed that he missed the opportunity, he doubled down that it meant he would probably get in with the next group he was certain would be brought in." And sure enough, he was standing on the fourth floor with us waiting to get a book signed.
From that point it was rather straightforward. Photos were allowed until you reach the stage. No flash. No posing. No personalization. Stephen King said think you to me...not sure why, but I remember replying, "No, thank you so very much!" as I headed towards the exit.
I was sad that my parents couldn't be there. I knew my father would have loved to see King, despite not being able to have a conversation of any meaningful length with his favorite author. I wished he could have been there with me, but I knew he would never have wanted to wait as long as the uber-fans had waited. Also, by the time I was sliding the book into my bag and heading for the exit I had been on my feet at least five hours. My parents would never have been able to tolerate that; my own feet were howling in pain and my appreciation for the suffering of restaurant staff reached a new level. I couldn't imagine what my father's feet would have felt like; sure, could have folding chairs, but that's just another hassle of something to carry around the streets. Everything's a tradeoff.
So Dad...I got it for you. There were so many times I was told to leave, and that this wasn't going to happen...but perseverance paid off. Or just ignoring the people running the store paid off. Maybe a little of both.
Merry Christmas.
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| This was where we were initially placed to wait once inside the store. An employee said it was supposed to go in the toy section, but was a little too "unsteady" on its feet to be near kids. |
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| One of several photos I took... |
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| Camera phones apparently don't yield the best results... |
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