I must confess that I didn't know the iPhone was being launched last Friday until the in-your-face hype grew to such dimensions that it became virtually impossible to evade—that was right around Valentine's Day, I think.

OK, truth be told, I managed to avoid any concrete knowledge of the iPhone introduction until early in the launch week. Mind you, it wasn't an active avoidance on my part, more a blissful ignorance borne from a profound lack of interest. Just as I was never really quite sure what day Paris Hilton was to be released from jail to parade coquettishly before an army of cameras as any convicted drunk driver would, I couldn't have pinpointed this High Holy Day for iPhone cultists on a calendar to save my life until Tuesday of launch week.

Nonetheless, I made a decision on Thursday, right about the time the universe of iPhone deniers reached a group of two—the last surviving Korowai Batu tribesman living in a treetop shelter deep in the jungles of Papua New Guinea, who uses the Motorola RAZR v3 given to him by a group of technology missionaries to gut fish, and, of course, me. I couldn't beat the hype, I reasoned, so I might as well join it...so I could make fun of it.

I arrived at the local mall about 15 minutes before the official launch time with my four-year-old son in tow, for I felt it was time for him to learn how to point and laugh discreetly at gadget-people. To assure him that his derision would be well-placed, I told him of the standing ovation thousands of such people gave the iPhone when Steve Jobs introduced it at the Macworld Conference in January. I'll paraphrase what I'm pretty sure he was thinking after hearing my account, "Gee, Daddy. That's Orwellian in its creepiness."

As we approached the Apple Store, I felt the same trepidation one might experience when, having been driven mad with curiosity after watching "Croc Week" on Animal Planet, he sets off into the belly of a swamp to find a real, live 16-footer. Then I heard it...the sound of rapture, a sound usually heard at revival meetings, when the blind see and the lame walk. It was a squadron of Apple employees yelling, high-fiving, and generally enthusing their way into the store to take to their posts. None were over 25, all were sporting matching black T-shirts, and all were exhibiting a manic gusto normally reserved for high-school cheerleaders, the "Up with People!" crowd, and those paid to show gusto.

Completing the surreal storefront spectacle were two fully uniformed "security" guards. Apparently, any loyal Apple customer attempting to enter the store to buy an iPod accessory on this day would be getting his or her butt Tasered. This was a day set aside for true iGluttons.

And they were out in force, hundreds of them. There was the first in line, an outwardly rational man and his wife holding court while sitting in "camping" chairs that have never known dirt, only the pavement in front of Best Buys and the polished marble floors of malls. They were regaling everyone around them with stories of the adversity they overcame back during the original Play Station launch of '95, before there was even a Starbucks within easy walking distance.

And there was a guy screaming teasingly at his Sony Ericsson P1i (circa earlier '07) "You're obsolete! You're obsolete!" It remains unclear to me whether he was berating a friend on the other end of a call about missing the launch or was actually haranguing his soon-to-be-ex cell phone about the latest 8GB, bundled-to-the-max little hussy he was dumping it for.

My son and I made our way from the front to the back of the line, and as we did, we noticed a subtle yet distinct change in attitude. The first third of the line—geniuses who had more than likely taken a vacation day to wait in a line for a mass-produced, soon-to-be omnipresent product that would be on clearance sale by the time they've finished identifying all its bleeding-edge bugs—had the gall to sneer at us, noses raised with the contempt of perfumed French noblemen in the presence of a filthy peasant or, even worse, early adopters in the presence of a laggard.

However, as we progressed farther back, the body language shifted. My son noticed first, pointing (discreetly) at a woman who seemed less jovial than those before her, more introspective. "She's 98th in line, son," I said. "She's only been here for five hours. In her eyes, yes, she is still better than us, but only slightly so." Suffice it to say that by the time we reached the end of the line, the people there were so riddled with self-loathing that they were downright pleasant.

Finally, at 6:00 on the nose, amid the cheers of their fellow true believers and the perpetual high-fiving of the Apple black-shirts, the man and wife first in line walked reverently, in awe, arm in arm up the steps leading to the Apple Store's entrance. The iPhones would see them now. My son took in the scene and said, "Daddy, it looks like they're walking in to see the Wizard of Oz or something."

"Yes, it does," I answered. "And I hope they ask for some brains."

Michael Stuhlreyer is a business writer, a graphic designer, and president of Stuhlreyer Business Instruments, LLC., a Nashville-based firm specializing in the creation of marketing and sales support materials, as well as articles, case studies, and product profiles for technology companies. Contact Mike at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or visit his Web site, www.bizinstruments.com.