I know, it’s the end of the first week of Los Animales: Nadarave and the crew is still in line. You want to know what this Nadarave thing is. You want to know who is playing. Yet, you, dear reader, are stuck in line with Manda, Pedro, Dani, Kyle and Steve.

When you’re a music fanatic, you spend a lot of time in line. Back in the day, before we could buy our tickets through this Internet thing, we used to stand in line at Tower Records or Robinson’s-May, or wherever it was where we could find Ticketmaster. We showed up at the crack of dawn with cash in hand only to find out that they were giving us randomly assigned numbers to determine one’s true spot in the queue. That happened when my sister and I were aiming for Beastie Boys tickets sometime during the late 1990s. It was one hell of a long line, but– thank goodness– my sister is one of those people who is actually a winner. She pulled the good number, which negated the fact that I, naturally, pulled the shitty number. We got our tickets.

Then there’s the line to actually get inside the event. There was that time my sister and I went with one of my college friends to see David Bowie and Nine Inch Nails at the Forum. The line didn’t want to end and it didn’t to move either. There were these guys surrounding us wearing concert t-shirts that might have been older than us. They were definitely talking about Bowie concerts that happened before we were born. I only remember that line because I was fascinated by the stories surrounding us.

Yeah, yeah, eavesdropping isn’t cool, but it’s nearly unavoidable when you’re in line. You’re spending an hour, maybe more, trapped in open space with hundreds of people and there are at least a dozen overlapping conversations within earshot. Life in line is a hundred separate lives converging in a way that will never happen again.

Once you’re inside, the lines don’t stop. There’s the line at the concession stand. The line at the merch booth. There used to be lines to get autographs from local radio DJs, but I’m not sure that people give a crap about radio anymore. The worst, though, is the line for the ladies bathroom. Those are horrible. The exception to that rule happens when Kylie Minogue plays L.A., in which case there’s no line, even during intermission. I know this from experience.

The line is integral to the music experience. That’s why we stuck you in one. Once you get through the line, though, it only takes a few minutes to forget that you were in it.

Tell us your stories from the line in the comments section.

P.S. Special thanks to Carlos for sending us the ESG clip you see here. Totally apropos.