COLUMN: Beyond simply standing in line

From Kieran Darcy's, "From Downtown," Fall '98 We hit the Walk, trying to scout out a good party scene. However, we spent the next couple of hours strolling around and meeting other people we know who also were looking for somewhere to go. That was as social as we got that evening. After a quick pit-stop at Wawa, we turned back for home. Normally, we would eat, argue about sports teams and conk out rapidly. But this was not a normal night. Tonight was: The Line. The plan was to synchronize the alarm clocks for 3:30 a.m. and head over to the Palestra to buy men's hoops tickets -- good ones. We all retired to bed at about 2 a.m. Of course, I was "the lucky one." Since I don't need to buy tickets to get into the basketball games, I was spared. I slept soundly for a good eight hours that night. But the events which I slept through are worth being heard. Alarms went off precisely at 3:30 a.m. Well, maybe not precisely. Despite our gifted intelligence and Ivy League status, daylight savings time can be quite the puzzle for Penn students. Some clocks were set back already, others were not. The complications had only begun. The five night warriors, preparing to journey to the Palestra, woke up at various times, in various states of disarray. One slept through his alarm clock, requiring a friend to pound on his door to wake him up, and another was stranded in the lobby of the high rise for an hour because he needed to be signed in. Four gathered together, and suddenly remembered in the middle of the night that they needed a stand-in for a fifth member of the group who was away for the weekend. I was considered as a candidate, but they decided to spare me because I had a midterm on Monday. So they knocked on another confederate's door at 4 a.m. and he dutifully came along for the ride. Arriving bleary-eyed yet boisterous at about 4:30 a.m., the troops took their place at the back of The Line, a line much longer than they expected. But their trials had just begun. One guy desperately needed to smoke, but was vehemently discouraged from sneaking a drag in the bathroom for fear of smoke alarms and mass exodus. Now that would have been funny. Perhaps the most entertaining aspect of the experience must have been the conversations that ensued during the early-morning wait. One of them voiced concerns over seat selection, quite upset that they had not arrived earlier to get their coveted seats right behind the basket. Another debated personnel and strategy decisions about upcoming intramural league basketball. What better time and place to discuss intramural basketball than the Palestra at dawn? You know they've got the love. Meanwhile, the stand-in began to wonder, "What the hell am I doing here?" Waiting to buy tickets that aren't even for him? But doesn't that say it all? Is it really just about basketball tickets? Of course it seemed so at the time, thinking of nothing but getting to the front of line and purchasing their tickets. But The Line was not budging as the sun rose. It turns out that the computer was not working and things were at a standstill. Around 9 a.m., the group realized that the situation was extremely grim. A vote was taken. They all needed sleep and energy to work the next day. So, all with grave faces, they turned and headed home. The next day, they woke up and had no tickets to show for their effort. And they still weren't sure exactly what hour of the day it was. But their story was priceless. They told me how lucky I was I didn't have to go through this ordeal. The strange thing is, they seemed like the lucky ones to me. Yeah, I didn't need to go and buy tickets. But this wasn't about tickets. It's about memories -- making memories. That's what we're really here for, remember that. Lying half-asleep in the hallways of the Palestra in the middle of the night with friends. That's a keeper. They may not have gotten tickets that night, but all ended well -- they got prime seats on Monday. I took that midterm Monday, too, and I think I did pretty well. But that test will be forgotten quickly. So will most of the games that my friends bought tickets for. But The Line on Saturday night -- they'll never forget that. I wish I had been there.