We bet a whole lot of you thought you might feign a doctor's appointment or a breakfast meeting or a leaky ceiling this week in hopes of sneaking into the Met's Alexander McQueen exhibit before it closes up shop on Sunday. Admit it: You were already drafting the email to your bosses and congratulating yourself on being so smart, on beating the system by getting there when everyone else was in bed or chained to their desks. You imagined a serene stroll, an early-morning-deserted space, a silent reverie, and a $7 iced coffee before traipsing back to the office enlightened and amazed and satisfied at being so cultured and having such impeccable taste.
Well, you weren't alone. Seems the whole city had the same idea. By 9:30am today (that's when the museum opens its doors), several hundred—maybe thousand—people were coiled and weaving through two separate epic lines just to get through the main entrance. Stretched out and unfolded, we estimate those lines—each packed three or four or five sweating jerks deep—at six or eight blocks long.
Needless to say, we never got inside.