An hour later, three guys, one of whom was very vocal, hopped in line with the con artist that I have christened "The Scanner." The college girls said and did nothing. I didn't either, it wasn't like they were directly in front of me. But a boiling hot cauldron of WTF bubbled inside of me because of the lie that I had just caught. To bring myself back to an agreeable state, I wrote a Google Note titled "The Politics of Standing In Line." We all waited patiently as we inched along walls over the next hour and a half until we approached the King Drive Overpass Bridge. It was here that things started to get interesting.

The line behind me had grown into a monstrosity that snaked back into the convention hall, along the original route leading back to Indiana where I entered the line, and around the walls back to the bridge. Police officers restricted the route onto the bridge with ropes and controlled traffic with amazement. I then noticed a couple of 50-something year old ladies at the back of the miles-long line making a casual stroll towards our line that was about to be granted bridge access, while motioning three of their friends to join them in the scheme. The friends hesitated and smiled unpleasantly as they held their places at the end of the line. Scared money don't make no money. Guess where the 50-somethings posted up?

In front of the college girls. To make matters worse, two more women and a man who hadn't even made it to the end of the line yet, but noticed the 50-year old somethings sneak into the line, tried to speedily do the same thing...in front of me. I picked up my pace and said loudly, "I ain't going; I ain't going." I heard one of the girls cutting behind me tell her friend, "Just keep moving girl." And just like that, five more people finessed their way past what had been 3.5 hours of waiting and thousands of people.

On the bridge, we were told that we would be waiting for a while before we were able to go down the escalators, which was the last leg of the Obama Ticket Journey. The apprehension that I felt as a result of The Scanner's lie had by then subsided. This is almost over. People who were smart enough to arrive earlier than 5:30 a.m. now walked in the opposite direction, showing off their golden (blue) tickets and stimulating applause from the line. That was so lame. Betcha I won't be doing that when I get mine. We inched just a bit further, into a lobby closer to the escalators, closer to the promised land of the ticket tables when things started to go terribly wrong.

A rush of people flooded the lobby saying that the police were telling everyone that there weren't going to be enough tickets and they should go home. But they weren't leaving. They were coming for the escalators, coming for the line. They were going to be let in; they were determined to get their tickets. All 50-75 of them: white, black, and Asian. And we, as in me, The Scanner, her loud guy friends, the 50-something year old line jumpers, the college girls, and the Just Keep Moving crew, were part of the line that stood between them and the promised land. The deck is going up. (Translation: All hell was breaking loose.)

The 50-somethings yelled at the crowd, "Y'all need to get back in line!"

The college girls clasped hands as a unit as the leader shrieked, "We are going to have to throw some 'bows!"

Just Keep Moving's namesake sneered loudly, "What happened to all the order? Y'all need to get back in line!"

And the loudest guy from The Scanner clique bellowed, "This ain't happening." Strike 3.

Picture the irony and hypocrisy: All of the actors and co-conspirators of the continuous line jumping of the last four hours championing "order" and "getting in line." The enablers, the unethical, the criminal, and the sneaky had now become the accountable, the ethical, the pious, and the straight-talkers. Those traits have been embedded into American culture since the first Native was slain. I could not take it any longer.

"One good turn deserves another one and it's only right that they're cutting the line," I yelled. "All y'all cut, now y'all complaining. That's what y'all get."

Looking one of the 50-somethings in the eye, I reasoned, "You know you cut." She looked down and pursed her lips.

"Y'all cut too," I said over my shoulder to Just Keep Moving. One of their crew members, defiant, stomped off.

Loud guy of The Scanner's clique says, "But everybody here has been waiting. It's not right."

I replied, "Brother, truth be told, you cut too."

"How?"

"You met up with her," I said, pointing to the The Scanner's dread bun under my chin. "And she cut earlier."

She retorted, "But I said I was with them."

"And that was bullshit!" I laughed.

She fell silent.

"We are all going to get tickets. Chill out."

Two older men who were now part of the logjam at the head of the escalators nodded and cosigned in unison, "That's right!"

At that time, one of the volunteers announced that there were only 500 tickets left and that the members of the lobby should all get them. To my knowledge, we all did. The college girls danced to the happy pop classic that played in the ticket distribution room. The Scanner Crew took selfies. The 50-somethings smiled from ear-to-ear as they approached the folding tables. Don't Stop Moving was not far behind me the last time I checked. I hurried out of there, as my patience was razor thin and cared less about the theatrics of securing a ticket. I needed to get food!

I learned a lot about life in that line yesterday. Here are a few:

  • If the zombie apocalypse was to happen tomorrow, people will not be orderly. It's every person for him or herself or their group.
  • As long as resources are expected and abundant, people will play civil.  When resources become scarce, people get a lot more defensive, testy, and underhanded, but generally want to cooperate with their fellows.
  • The ends for most people justify the means, and they will excuse their own unethical behavior while chastising the person that comes behind them for exhibiting the same behavior. Advantages are taken, not given, and if you snooze, you can lose opportunities in a split second.
  • The most vocal judges are likely hypocrites that have covered their tracks and are surrounded and/or protected by the silence of those who have been around as long as them.  
  • People generally do not want to make waves in the social order on the individual scale by calling out the unethical among them.
  • People operate as small cliques until the entire group is being threatened for resources, at which point they all band together, thick as thieves.  
  • People save a spot for their loved ones in line, so there are people that will be served first by the fact that someone got them there, not necessarily because the loved one is deserving of the prize.
  • Others who come to the party earlier than loved ones but we're a few minutes late behind a placeholder may not have access to the party at all.  
  • People should recognize their place in line and defend their place at all costs.

I'm grown. I understood that my job was to regulate the spot right in front of me, which is why I erred in letting the college girls in front of me to begin with. But what about you? If you get behind someone that doesn't know what they're doing, or isn't aware of resources, time, and power, you may end up without a ticket (or whatever symbol that means a lot to you). Watch who you follow and who you allow to step ahead of you. Do you know how large of a group they are representing? A lot of people did not get tickets for the Obama Farewell yesterday because what happened in my part of the line more than likely happened in every part of the line.

If there's an opportunity to get ahead by tagging along with someone you know that is further along, or there's some break in the line you're able to advance through, or you notice that some people are just not conscious and do not care if you get in front of them, what do you do...IN LIFE?

No judgments here, so don't judge me: if anybody wants this ticket, do like Don Corleone and make my time standing in that line worth it. You know I hate lines, right?

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