What I'll (Never Again) Do for Cheesecake

I did something stupid on Friday.

I waited in line for three hours for a slice of cheesecake. Scratch that. For half a slice of cheesecake.

I feel like there must have been a psychology student somewhere nearby, tracking my motions. Actually, I hope there was. At least then I could say my mistake was for the good of science.

Here's the story:

I heard earlier in the week that Junior's, my favorite purveyor of cheesecake, was selling 60 cent slices on Friday in honor of its 60th anniversary. It's right around the corner from Paul's work and on my way home, so we agreed to meet and get a piece.

I got there about 6:30 p.m., and Paul was already in line, about three-quarters of a block away from the entrance.

"Is there a celebrity in there or something?" a woman in a cab outside the restaurant yelled to us suckers in line.

By 7, Paul was ready to go home sans cheesecake, but I wanted to hold out. A half hour later, I was the once who wanted to leave, but Paul thought we could make it. Surely it wouldn't be too much longer.

We were invested. We weren't the only ones. People started getting in fights with the guard letting a few people into the restaurant at a time. Paul called him the bouncer.

Yes, we got our cheesecake. At 9 p.m.

I made sure to enjoy each and every bite when I got home that night. Time included, I think it was the most expensive cheesecake I'd ever purchased.