Back to regular view     Print this page

Subscribe   •   EasyPay   •   e-paper
Reader Rewards   •   Customer Service

Weather: REDUNDANT
Become a member of our community!

Metro links
Metro & Tri-State
Blogs
News
Columnists
 


AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Metro & Tri-State
Print Article Email Article Share / Bookmark
suntimes.com

Search Classifieds

View Subcategories

Start Building

I want to start
creating my ad right away.

Start Building

Register

I'd like to set up my account first, then create an ad.

Register

Login

I've already registered, and I'm ready to place an ad.

Login

Contests & Sweepstakes

Check out our contests & sweepstakes and find out how to enter for a chance to win great prizes!






TOP STORIES ::
Michael Scott honored for efforts to seek peace

Poised for powerful growth

A no-win situation

Rihanna's fighting words

Such fun, 'I almost had a heart attack'







Mom-to-be in PS3 line wants green, not games

November 17, 2006

The wind comes again -- an invading chill that no amount of wool and nylon can fully deter.

And Jeannie Rowells, who is pregnant, says she doesn't even like video games -- in fact, she hates them.

But she's here anyway, on her third day, waiting with an ever-growing line outside the Schaumburg Circuit City to be among the first in America to own a Sony PlayStation 3. It's lunchtime Thursday, and there are another 12 hours to go before she'll have the privilege of buying one of the consoles, which cost $500 to $600.

Perhaps it comes from sitting, sleeping and not showering for three days in the company of strangers, but Rowells is very candid about why she loathes gaming.

"He's a video game addict and it makes me hate video games," Rowells says of the absent father of her soon-to-be-born son. "He'd stay up until 7 a.m. and have no respect for me being pregnant."

Rowells is here because she needs the money, she says. She hopes to sell her PS3 for $3,000.

She says she and her son are enjoying the experience.

"This is the beginning of all of our adventures together," says Rowells, who is wearing five tops and three layers of gloves.

Rowells' thoughts shift to last summer, when she journeyed alone to southern Italy to find distant relatives she'd never met.

She remembers the old lady who came running up to her bus, shouting to the driver, "You've got an American girl on board!" Then the moment she looked at the Italian faces and saw herself. And the fresh mozzarella, the prosciutto and pizza.

About this time, Chinese takeout arrives and Rowells flips open a styrofoam container, releasing the spicy sweet aroma of beef with broccoli. She digs in with a fork.

"I'm starving," she says. "I can't get food fast enough with chopsticks."

Despite the awful cold, Rowells -- curled up on a folding metal and cloth love seat -- got five hours of sleep Wednesday night.

A day later, an uneasy tension has begun to build at the back of the line, Rowells says. Some of those people begin complaining that some near the front shouldn't be allowed to leave their spots for extended periods.

"The people in the back -- those are the ones who are getting greedy and selfish," Rowells says.

Of course, this is coming from someone fifth in line.

A little later, Rowells slides a stretchy black ski mask over her face, pulls up the covers around her and then becomes absorbed into the shivering, huddling but hopeful human snake counting down the hours until midnight.

sesposito@suntimes.com

THE LAW OF THE LINE
He is French, he's first in line and he's the self-appointed leader/dispute resolver among those waiting outside the Schaumburg Circuit City to buy a Sony PlayStation 3 video game console.

"I'm the commander," Cecil says, half-joking. "Everyone OK?"

From time to time, disgruntled back-of-the-line folks approach and try to figure out if they're wasting their time. Cecil, who didn't want his last name used, listens patiently and is brutally honest about their chances.

He doesn't please everyone.

"It's (expletive) bull - - - -," says one 20-something man with a prominent, grizzled jaw.

About 2:30 p.m. Thursday, Patrick Hanson, the store's operations manager, arrives to "maintain the integrity of the people who are in the line."

He strings yellow police-like tape along the length of the line and announces he's going to videotape the first 100 people so that there are no disputes later on.

"Eating and going to the bathroom -- that's it," he says. "No going to school, no going to work."

A group of anxious-looking people cluster at the spot where the 100th person should be.

"I need everybody to start moving back," Hanson says. " I need single file."