The Lines Form Here : Any Time of the Day or Night, It Seems Queuing Up Is Part of the L.A. Experience

Death and taxes aren’t the only unavoidables. Waiting in long lines has become an integral part of L.A. living. But not all lineups are pure drudgery; some queues have established their own hip cachet.

At 5 a.m. on a Friday, the ticket line for the Arsenio Hall show is already forming. In the predawn chill of Gower Street in Hollywood, the intrepid sit on a strip of sidewalk not more than 2 feet wide, breathing fumes from the cars that race by. There’s none of that “Woof! Woof!” barking the show’s audience members are known for; it’s far too early for excessive enthusiasm.

Three hours later the door will open and tickets--two per person--will be doled out. (This is not the end. Those with tickets must be back that afternoon to wait in yet another line to get into the studio.)

Some bring blankets, food or stacks of magazines and cards to keep warm and occupied during the ordeal.

“I start a new job on Monday and this is the only time I could see the show,” said Michele Cisneroz of Encino, there with Chris Canton of Canoga Park.

Was it worth braving the elements waiting for tickets?

“We hope so,” she said. “I don’t even know who’s on the show tonight.”

When told that rap group Tony! Toni! Tone! was among the guests, Canton joked, “Well, I guess we can go.”

“This is what you call friendship,” said a weary Trudy Williams of Culver City, who awoke at 4:30 a.m. to wait with pal Angela Bowser from Richmond, Va. Williams was well into a card game with some other line waiters: Michele Quattrin, Sheri Lewin and Alex Omiotek, visiting from Sacramento. After this, they said, they were heading to Disneyland, the Land of Many Lines.

At 7:45 on a Saturday morning it’s like a scene out of “thirtysomething” as yuppified Angelenos stand in a bread line outside of La Brea Bakery, attached to Campanile restaurant. They wait for fresh chocolate cherry bread ($7), walnut loaf ($6) and rye currant bread ($6.50), gourmet loaves that have given foodies a new reason to live.

It’s 15 minutes before the door opens but the tempting scents have started to waft out. This is, at least, a great smelling line. Some people stand, some sit on tables outside, everyone is quiet. Most look like they just woke up.

James Mastrantonio, an actor, said, “I hate public conversations in line. I don’t want to share someone’s innermost thoughts this early in the morning.”

Ada Press, a culinary consultant visiting from New York, learned about the bakery from the James Beard Foundation newsletter. Clutching a bag of potato dill rolls and red pepper bread, she explained this was a stopover on her way to the airport. “I’m buying the bread to eat on the way,” she said. “I wouldn’t dare eat the food at the airport.”

Attorney Ed Pierce confessed that he lines up here twice a month. “If I was less compulsive I’d come later,” he admitted. “The bakery is popular enough that people are worried that what they want will be gone.”

And so it was. Said Susan Epstein, “You come at 11, there’s no line and no bread. I got here at 8 and they ran out of onion bread at three minutes after.”

They also are served who stand and wait at the Hard Rock Cafe at the Beverly Center. It’s 8 p.m. on Saturday and the wait in line for dinner at this rock-while-you-eat tourist attraction is about an hour. But there’s plenty to keep people busy: watching city trucks tow illegally parked cars out of the office building lot across the street; listening to the music blaring from the restaurant; checking out potentially eligible members of the opposite sex. It’s a line heavy on young people and out-of-towners.

Shawna Keller of Upland said she was occupying herself by “watching all the people who drive by who think they’re cool, and their radio is fuzzy and their car is ugly.”

“Anything is better than going to Orange County some place,” said Lizbeth Bendana, a student who lives behind the Orange Curtain. “I’d wait in L. A. anywhere.”

Added Tim Barsch of Ventura, “This is a line where you wait for what you really want to do. It’s not like a grocery store line.”

Michael Destito braved a 30-minute drive from Ventura to stand and wait. “We came down to cruise Sunset, Hollywood, just to have fun,” he explained. “We’re young, what can I say?’

Andrea Bender of Upland offered succinct line psychology. “Obviously, if they have a line, it must be worth getting into.”

Saturday night is Latin night at the Circus disco in Hollywood. At 11 p.m. some 500 people stand in a line that snakes through the parking lot. The average wait to get in and dance whatever is left of the night away is two hours.

Two tall director’s chairs are off to the side, where the management sits and surveys the line. It’s a dressed-up crowd; men in suits, women in body-clinging white dresses. Some grouse about having to wait in line so long, but they stay, as the minutes roll into hours.

Owner Gene LaPietra offered his optimistic philosophy on lines: “Standing in line is half the fun of going out. It’s a parade of humanity. It’s a fashion show. There’s just as much fun out there as there is inside.”

“The last time I was in a line like this was in Russia,” said David Manousadjian of Montebello and formerly of Soviet Georgia. “In America, it’s good, you can cut in. In Russia, you can’t.”

“We look at it this way,” said Connie Garcia of Santa Ana. “By the time we get in and have a few shots we’ll probably forget it. Probably lose our shoes, too.”

And April Nepi of Southgate aptly summed up te situation: “If there was no line, I’d go home.”

Then there is the line that ended: the truly dedicated who stood in the line praying for canceled tickets before each evening’s performance of “Phantom of the Opera” as the clock wound down on Michael Crawford’s last performance last Sunday.

And the line that never ends: As any Californian knows, it’s at DMV branch offices.