2003-07-17 � MOB

About a week ago I received an email addressed to my diaryland email account from an anonymous reader. The contents of the email I reproduce for you here.

Date: Wed, 9 Jul 2003 16:40:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: The Mob Project
To: [email protected]
Subject: MOB #4

You are invited to take part in MOB, the project that creates an inexplicable mob of people in New York City for ten minutes or less. Please forward this to other people you know who might like to join.

FAQ

Q. Why would I want to join an inexplicable mob?

A. Tons of other people are doing it.

Q. Why did the plans for MOB #3 change?

A. The National Guardsmen with machine guns had something to do with it.

Q. What should I do with my MOB $1 bill?

A. Spend it, if you like. But you may be asked to make another, for a future MOB.

Q. Can we do a MOB downtown, for a change?

A. Sure.

INSTRUCTIONS - MOB #4

Start time: Wednesday, July 16th, 7:18 pm

Duration: 10 minutes

(1) At some point during the day on July 16th, synchronize your watch to http://time.gov/timezone.cgi?Eastern/d/-5/java. (It that site doesn't work for you, try this http://time.gov/timezone.cgi?Eastern/d/.)

(2)By 7 PM, based on the month of your birth, please situate yourselved in the bars below. Buy a dringk and act casual. NOTE: if you are attending the MOB with friends, you may all meet in the same bar, so long as at least one of you has the correct birth month for that bar.

January, February, March: Puck Fair, 298 Lafayette St. (just south of Houston). Meet just inside the front door to the right.
April, May, June:288 (a.k.a. Tom & Jerry's), 288 Elizabeth St. (just north of Houston). Meet in the back to the left, by the jukebox.
July, August, September: Bleeker St. Bar, 58 Bleeker St. (at Crosby). Meet in the back to the right, by the jukebox.
October, November, December: Pamela's Cantina, 1 W. 3rd St. (just west of Broadway). Meet near the right side of the bar, by the television sets.

(3) Then or soon thereafter, a MOB representative will appear in the bar and will pass around further instructions.

(4) If you arrive near the final MOB site before 7:18, stall nearby. NO ONE SHOULD ARRIVE AT THE FINAL MOB SITE UNTIL 7:17.

(5) At 7:28 you should disperse. NO ONE SHOULD REMAIN AT THE MOB SITE AFTER 7:30.

(6) Return to what you otherwise would have been doing, and await instructions for MOB #5.

Synchronize your watch?! Return to what you otherwise would have been doing?! Wait by the jukebox for further instructions? Totally Mission: Impossible. I was, of course, suspicious that this might be a prank, but at about the same time reports of the existence of these "flashmobs," as they have become known, began to filter in. Idiomatic had a short entry about them with addresses for further information. Here is a nice photo essay about mob #3. And here are some more photos with a little more detailed text about what's going on at the third mob.

I decided it was an invitation I could not turn down.

I thought about inviting someone to go with me, but any of my friends who might have found such an endeavor diverting are either studying for the bar or living in Chicago or Santa Fe or the suburbs of Tulsa. I thought about inviting Tommy, but his sense of humor rarely delves into the whimsical, and it can be difficult to convince him that doing something just to have done it is worth the effort. And besides it was entirely unclear whether his new job would have provided him the flexibility to come up on a weekday. There were a couple of co-workers who expressed interest, but ultimately opted out.

So, I set out as a Solo-Sooner, one midget against the big city, hoping to get lost in a mob. "Don't call me for bail money, Brian," I heard Ellen quip on my way out the door.

My birthday is September 13, which I mention specifically to give you all plenty of time to start thinking about this year's gift. Following the instructions from the email, I was to go to the Bleeker Street Bar with all the other Virgos.

I arrived at 6:56 PM according to my synchronized watch. Once inside I ordered a bottle of water, an order that threw the entire bar staff into a state of confusion. The bartender looked at me like I'd ordered a steaming pile of goat innards. "Just water?"

"Is that a problem? I'm a designated driver, ok?"

The bar itself had a distinctly neighborhood feel to it. I imagined the bartenders knew the names of all the patrons and organized fund raising drives to send flowers and cards on those increasingly frequent liver transplant afternoons.

I worked my way toward the back of the bar where I scoped out a wall to lean on not far from the jukebox. I surveyed the bar, wondering how many of the beer sippers were there to mob and how many were simply winding down after a long day at work. The excitement was palpable. I struck up a conversation with a friendly looking couple, Kevin and Rodney, and, as slyly as I could, asked if they were there to mob.

Their voices dropped and they leaned into me conspiratorially. "This is our first mob," confessed Rodney.

"Mine too!" I said.

Just then, a lovely Asian girl with magenta streaks through her hair turned around and said, "don't be nervous if it's your first mob. I've been mobbing since Mob #2."

"Wow," I said. "You go way back then. Like all the way to last month."

She lowered her head demurely. "Yeah," she said. "I'm practically an original mobber. Practically."

Just then Kevin noticed a commotion over by the jukebox. A dark haired man in non-descript clothing was passing out small slips of paper.

We got up and made our way over to the mob representative. He looked each person in the eye before saying "mob?" If you nodded your head or indicated in the affirmative in some other way, you got a slip of paper. I saw no one approach the mob rep who did not seem to be a mob participant. I would estimate that nearly 80% of the bar patrons were there for mobbing info.

This is the text of what I received.

NOTE�New Duration: 5 minutes (Gather at 7:18; disperse at 7:23.)

The site:
Otto Tootsi Plohound (273 Lafayette, just north of Prince). Leave Bleeker St. Bar by 7:12.

YOU ARE:
- on a bus tour from Maryland. You are excited but also bewildered. It is as if the shoes were made in outer space.
- If you have a cell phone, dial a friend. Say, "Guess where I am." After a pause, say, "In a SoHo shoe store." Or: "In one of those New York City mobs."

Keep this slip hidden.

Mob #5 is next Thursday.

Though I knew the mob site would be nearby I have a tendency to get lost, so I gave myself a few extra minutes to find the place. If I found it too quickly, I intended to loiter near by.

On my way, I found myself on a street corner with Ian and Terri from The Amazing Race 3. Of course, as I looked at them I had no idea who they were, but they were achingly familiar. They asked for quick directions and I pointed. The whole time I expected them to say, "hey, aren't you Tom and Sandy's son?" or "don't you work for Judge Selma?" But they didn't. A few steps later I realized who they were and turned to see if I could snap a picture, but they had already disappeared below ground into the subway. I wish I'd put it together a little earlier so I could ask if they were still wearing disposable, paper underwear.

Anyway, I found the final mob site in due course.

I walked past it and up to the street corner where I pretended to be weighing the pros and cons of purchasing a newspaper from a newspaper box. Behind me, two guys were pressed up against the wall, prison break style. The one nearest the corner ventured a little peek around to see if anything was happening yet in front of the shoe store. Nothing yet, so he snapped back around and tried not to giggle with his compatriot.

I checked my watch. One minute to mob. I reinspected my newspaper box.

At precisely the appointed moment a mob of 300-400 people appeared from out of nowhere. It was the coolest thing I've ever seen. I have no idea where these people came from or how I didn't notice them until they were pressing into the shoe store.

Once inside I got on the cell because I was following directions. I tried to call Peth to tell her I was in a SoHo shoe store, but her line was busy. Instead I called My sister and brother-in-law, my occasional roommate, and Tommy. The conversations went something like this. "Hi! Guess where I am! No! I'm in a shoestore in SoHo! Listen, I gotta go, ok? Yeah, I really gotta go. I have calls to make. No, I'll call you later and explain. I promise."

The noise in the shoe store was quite deafening. I saw people picking up shoes, wearing them on their hands and banging them together like cymbals from outer space. A shopper, who happened to just get caught in the mob while he was trying on a pair of mod lace ups tapped me on the shoulder to ask what this was.

"I'm on a bus tour from Maryland," I offered by way of explanation.

"Welcome to New York. Do you stop at a lot of shoe stores on your bus tour?" he asked.

I held my finger up and dialed another friend, smiling the whole time.

Meanwhile at the door, a nervous employee was blocking mobbers from coming in. "We're full!" I heard him cry. "You'll have to wait!"

When the time was up, a flow of mobbers exited the store, sweeping me up along the way. I loitered for a minute or two, just long enough to hail a cab.

The mob was made up of all kinds of people. Young and old, ugly and lovely, rich and poor, professional and not. It was really kind of astounding.

To the anonymous reader who sent me the email, thank you for thinking of me. If you get the instructions for flash mob 5, please send them my way.

Posted at 2:39 p.m.

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