3:33 p.m.: Besides being known for its cemetaries, Colma is known for its fog. It's worse than the fog in San Francisco. Right now, it's hazy and warm. When the sun peeks out between the cloud cover, it feels quite strong.

Pastrami...yum.

The Quiznos sign that I'm next to becomes a welcomed shelter from the sun. I have to look at pastrami sandwich for the next two-plus hours, but that's the price I pay for comfort.

3:38 p.m.: There are two guys behind me in line - whoops, now six. I haven't been paying close attention to the phone conversation of the guy directly behind me, but the snippets I hear include, "time of death," "cause of death," and "that snotty email response." His second mobile phone just went off.

4:06 p.m.: Store employees peer out the storefront every few minutes to gawk. Their surprised looks transform into wide grins as the realization of commissions sets in.

Make mine Olestra free, please.

4:09 p.m.: Three AT&T employees hand out chips and bottles of water to the folks in line. Isn't that nice? I devour the chips. After all, I've been sitting in front of a giant picture of a pastrami sandwich since I got here.

If I drink the water now, will my bladder burst before 6 p.m.?

4:31 p.m.: Line update. There are now 15 people behind me. I suspect the line will grow quickly once quittin' time comes around.

4:35 p.m.: Two AT&T clerks pitch us all on AT&T's DSL service. I have cable broadband at home.

4:38 p.m.: A security guard shows up to keep the crowd at bay. The store finally closes to prepare for 6 p.m. Everyone eagerly watches the clerks hang iPhone posters on the storefront. There's a sense that there's something really happening here, and the crowd is starting to buzz.

4:56 p.m.: There are four chairs near the front of the line that have been unoccupied since I arrived. A teenaged sk8r-boi in front of me notices the same thing. He says it's been over two hours since that group has been in line, and that they should lose their place. Sk8r-boi is trying to organize a group to chuck the chairs aside, but no one is interested.

The only other time I've ever stood in line like this was when Star Wars was released in 1977. My aunt, my brother, and I were second in line, and we arrived three hours before the movie.

I'm unfamiliar with line etiquette. What's the rule? Should that group lose their place? Does an inanimate object (in this case, a set of chairs) serve as a proper proxy in line? Shouldn't there at least be one person from this phantom group?

5:05 p.m.: Line update. There are now 26 people behind me. Will there be enough iPhones for all of us?

5:16 p.m.: The pizza guy delivers dinner for the store staff. They let him inside the store. The crowd reaction is mixed. Some want pizza, others want to be in the store.

5:17 p.m.: A FedEx truck pulls up, and the crowd reacts with applause. Then the truck quickly drives away, and the crowd laughs heartily.

5:37 p.m.: We're creeping closer to iPhone time, and the crowd is subduded. I start to wonder about the scene at the Apple Store. I bet there's a party going on over there. A few hundred people, the media, the spectators there to see it all. The atmosphere there must be electric. In Colma, the fog is starting to settle in.

I can't help but feel like a teenager without a date on prom night. Instead of going to the prom, I went to the party someone decided to throw for all us dorks who couldn't get a date for the prom. We're misfits. The real fun is on the other side of town.

5:45 p.m.: Line update. There are now over 70 people in line.

6 p.m.: The doors open. The store manager says that people will be let in a few at a time. Once the first group is in, I'm sixth in line. The manager says he's not allowed to tell anyone what his inventory is like. "Have enough for everyone?" he's asked. The manager simply smiles.

Not the first in line, but the first to leave the store with an iPhone.

6:10 p.m.: I call Leslie to see how she's doing. "We just bought a phone," she says. She beat me to it. Drats.

6:18 p.m.: I'm in the store. The saleswoman takes my mobile number, last four digits of my social security number, and which iPhone I want. She disappears to the back of the store.

6:28 p.m.: The saleswoman reappears, and asks for my email address. She disappears again.

6:38 p.m.: The saleswoman appears again, and asks for my credit card. She disappears. It's very disconcerting to have someone with your credit card disappear into a back room.

6:48 p.m.: The saleswoman hands me her business card, and tells me to contact her if I have problems. She must be psychic.

6:50 p.m.: On the road back to the office. I wrote a separate article detailing the unboxing and setup of the iPhone, as well as the brick wall I hit.