on line

Several days ago, I found myself asked to pick up baked goods on short notice at 9:30 pm. We couldn’t arrive at the birthday empty-handed. This was no a problem since I was only blocks away from Magnolia, whose cakes and puddings I enjoyed years ago but which now seems too hyped-up for what it is. I told the bartender to save my seat, that I would be back to finish my wine and prayed that the bakery would not be overrun with people. The sight that I encountered was a line that ran out the door, snaked around the corner, and extended out of sight into the darkness. Curses! Don’t these people have anything better to do? They couldn't find one of the thousands of other places that now serve cupcakes in this town? WTF? I cabbed it to Bruno Bakery and bought myself a pignoli tart for my trouble.

It think of Jeffrey Steingarten's article "Lining Up" which begins: "I am totally sick of New York’s restaurant reservation rat race." He writes an account of a week-long foray into some notable New York restaurants with no-reservation policies, having at times to endure long waits and long lines. In the following excerpt, he is at the end of a line three rows deep in order to eat at a restaurant referred to as "Super Sushi" (and sounds from the description a lot like Tomoe):

After an hour, we began talking with the people around us. To my surprise, at least half are first-timers who have come on a recommendation from a friend or a guidebook (one of which speaks of "sushi heaven," and gives Super Sushi a food rating as high as Lutèce). The couple ahead of us live in Colorado. I tell them that real New Yorkers would not have to wait on line if tourists from Colorado stayed at home, where they belong. I tell them that people from Colorado are like cholesterol, blocking our city’s arteries. They have read about typical New Yorkers who insult innocent tourists, but they have never experienced one, and they seem truly appreciative. For them, it is like visiting the Statue of Liberty.