Standing In Line In The Rain
by Molly-Ann Leikin

It rained in Los Angeles last week. First time since 1992. Five year old children were crying "molly, mommy, something wet fell down and hit me in the face!: As half an inch of water fell on the dusty, southern part of our state, the National Guard was alerted, since Californians don't know how to drive in the rain. Frankly, they don't know how to drive at all, but this gave us an excuse for turning left from far right hand lanes. In this car culture, I believe I read somewhere that getting water spots on a clean BMW has been used successfully as a defense for murder one.

Truthfully, I feel most Californians, except for surfers and firefighters, are afraid of water, which explains why we rarely sit down in bath tubs, and prefer short showers or even Wash 'n Dry's, instead. Being confined too long in enclosed, moving, metal spaces, like cars, which can't proceed due to traffic entanglements, tends to make us erupt in road rage, which, when it rains, becomes wet road rage, which is the LAPD's trendy explanation for a 6% increase in drive-by shootings last Thursday.

As the storm continued -not just a cloud or two that eased on down from Oregon to remind us blow-driers that we really have frizzy hair - it became hurricane Nora.

Fortunately, Nordstrom's department store had surplus Cole-Hahn rain boots in all widths and sizes air-lifted from the Pacific North West, where it hasn't stopped raining since 1812. Southern California drivers were advised to remain at home, stay off the roads, huddle with low-fat Fritos in front of big screen t.v.'s, and watch the Weather Channel, which or 1/2" of treasured water slowly and beautifully fell from the sky.

There were six hundred and two accidents on our roads and freeways in a five hour period. Police cars with loud speakers were circling subdivisions, announcing the roads to be unsafe, and urging all of us to slowly proceed home, as mud slid down mountains, making the personal transportation challenge a little more invigorating.

Trying to cope as best I could with the tragedy of my tennis lesson being canceled, I turned Elizabeth, my Lexus, around, and headed back to Santa Monica. Passing a Tower Records store, I thought I was water-logged, and therefore, hallucinating. Why would there be a line around the block at the record store in all this rain? At the same mini-mall, dripping swarms of civilians in yellow slickers scurried with grocery bags full of tofu and Snapple to some sort of sport utility vehicle for safety. And yet the line at Tower Records was getting longer. Nobody had an umbrella. Some wore t-shirts, some, three piece suits, others were in overalls. A few of the Line Standers were reading the New York Times, others, the National Enquirer, still others, "Spontaneous Healing", preparing, no doubt, to recover quickly from the pneumonia they were inevitably catching. What were they doing here? Had the record store been converted into an emergency Red Cross Shelter? A food bank? Que pasa, boobie?

"Like we're waiting for Stones, tickets, man," one thin dude in sunglasses told me.

How long had he been there?

"Like four days, man."

How much longer would it be until the tickets went on sale?

"Like four more days, man."

Were they hungry? Nah, hadn't thought about it. Like they were into listening to their Diskman's. Food wasn't an issue.

"This is The Stones, man. Like The Stones..."

I remember when I used to line up in the rain to get a seat at the Troubadour. My first year in L.A. I lined up every Friday night, and got a front row table to see a strange little Englishman in silver lame overalls. His name was Elton John.

So I understand lining up in the rain. Believe me I do. And I miss it. Getting comped or scoring second row seats from an over-priced ticket broker takes away half the fun.

As I left the soggy 84 and counting Line Standers in front of Tower Records with the pizzas I couldn't help but buy for my brave, damp, music-loving soul mates, I said to myself that next year, I want to see another, longer line outside the same Tower Record store, during an even stronger hurricane. And everyone will be waiting for tickets to see you.

I'll be up at the head of the line.

Hold that thought.

© 2000 Molly-Ann Leikin

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