Jen's Column / Harry Potter

I’ve never stayed up all night for concert tickets. Never stood in line outside a music store for the unveiling of a new CD. Never even watched the clock for an eBay auction.

Yet, there I was Friday night, waiting up for the midnight release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
I’d succumbed to PotterMania.

It started innocently enough. I was visiting my family “up north” in Thief River Falls. My sister and I were at my parents’ house, watching the fairly painful interview of Corey Feldman and Corey Haim on Larry King Live. And wincing. Apparently the 80s teen idols are trying to make a comeback. And Larry King, inexplicably, is helping them.

“Turn it off!” my sister yelled from behind her Sudoku book. “I can’t watch this….”

And so we got back to the topic at hand. Which was, of course the final installment of JK Rowlings’ Harry Potter series. We had an hour left until it hit the local Wal-Mart — the only store in a 45-mile radius open ‘til midnight.

Angie had been ready to leave the house since 10:30 p.m. I’d been stalling. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go… I was just a little nervous about advertising my geekiness in my hometown.

“OK,” I said, revealing my plan. “When we get there, let’s act like we don’t know the book is coming out. ‘What is this?’ we can say in mock shock. ‘Harry Potter? Well, golly, do you think we should pick up a copy?’”

Angie didn’t even justify my suggestion with a response. “Man, have you seen the pictures of Daniel Radcliffe on the Internet?” she said instead — referring to the boy who plays Harry on the big screen.

“Did he turn out to be a nice man?” piped in my mom.

“Oh yes he did,” Angie answered.

We finally left the house at 11:34. When we pulled into the parking lot nine minutes later — and realized it was filled with cars — I started to panic. “What if we’re too late?” I shrieked.

“This is what I’m saying!” yelled Angie.

We booked it to the entrance, Angie hollering, “Remind me that I need Pull-ups and milk while we’re here.”

“You’re ruining the moment!” I rebuked her. “You can’t talk about Pull-ups and milk — this is about Harry!”

And with that sentence, my geekhood was complete. I literally jogged to the book department and was relieved to see a large group of people (“We’re in this together!”) — that wasn’t too large (“I’m going to get a book!”) — standing in line.

When store employees worked their way down the chain of fans, handing out official Harry Potter bracelets, I wore mine with pride. When they unveiled a table with bookmarks and posters, I was among the first to collect. When they invited us to indulge in cupcakes decorated in Harry’s school colors, I wore my maroon-frosting mustache with pride.

A Harry Potter movie played on the overhead TVs. “I’m in love with Daniel Radcliffe,” my 29-year-old sister sighed. Then, quietly, as an afterthought, she added, “I better clean the history off my computer or Andy’s going to get jealous.”

I ignored her, focusing instead on the official-looking man approaching a large, covered pallet. With the flair of a matador, he ripped the plastic from the top as store employees and shoppers alike flashed pictures.

We grabbed our books, feeling their hefty weight in our hands. I opened the cover and breathed in the thick scent of paper and ink. I felt the thrill of being part of a multi-continent read-a-thon.

But first I’d go shopping for Pull-ups and milk