Clean Lines of the Skyscrapers

We're in New York City right now, both of us blogging in the egregious 45 - 75 minute-long line to head to the top of the Empire State Building. Actually, "line" is a bit of a misnomer. We came in from the front, up an escalator, through lobby one, past the snack stand into the first line, the security line, where employees of the building exhort you to buy the audio tour ($6) plus the General Admission tour ($16). Express Ticket ($40) holders go right up. The ESB (I'm cool enough to use the three letter acronym, or TLA) also offers extended tours of the 102nd floor observatory ($14 plus the base price). Line number one leads to two metal detectors / X-ray machines all-too familiar to air travelers. Like Disney World, the first line goes illusorily fast. About ten minutes after heading up the escalator, you're ready to call their "45 - 75 minute" bluff.

Then comes line number two, the ticket purchase line. For reasons of space which the staff confuse with time, groups are separated into the people paying and all the rest, in much the same way that a wolf will separate the weak from the rest of the herd. In this way, we say that the wolf's victim is "paying tax" to natural selection. Brandi went into the "herd" line, or line number three, which is hopefully the line to the elevator. We're both blogging about our New York experiences; she because she just bought a pair of Versace jeans formerly worn in a fashion show by a Brandi-shaped model (score!). I found this line situation too funny to let go.

Okay, we just rounded the corner to line number four, which I think exists just so they could take us past the popcorn stand. Friends of ours went to an amusement park in Florida - I should clarify: THE amusement park - and found that they were hungry almost constantly because the park pumped the smell of popcorn out of every nook and crevice.

Ahead of us lie the classic public transportation turnstiles either leading to the elevator to the top or the line to separate out the tallest from the shortest, those dressed formally from the casuals, hipsters from emos, Republican apologists from outraged Democrats. Oh, the machine that scans the tickets uses a grocery laser and makes a "wuhp!" sound like a futuristic suction cup pulling off a surprised octopus. We're in line for the elevator. After you've bought your tickets, they don't bother trying to sell you on anything more. Curiously, "crowd control", who also help hawk the vital services such as the audio tour, has vanished as well. Brandi hopes the elevator ride won't take too long. I assured her that modern elevators with all of their safety equipment, actually kill fewer people than fire. True fact, as far as I know.

I think the designers of the ESB Observatory tour must have studies fractals to fit so much line into a two-dimensional space.

Hey, we're here!