The chance to spend a long time waiting in line for tickets doesn’t present itself very often in Cranbrook. That chance came Friday. Here was a pleasure I wasn’t going to deny myself.

Cranbrook, as we all know, is a last-minute kind of town. But this tendency could be turned on its head this time around — after all, ZZ Top is one of the world’s big draws.

Will Cranbrook buy tickets at the last minute, or will Cranbrook line up before dawn? When should I appear, to purchase tickets for a little Texas blues?

Cranbrook came out early in this case. And as it turns out, those early birds did get their worms, but it took some of them a long time (unless they were in line when the sales booths opened) — two and a half hours for someone who arrived at 9:30 a.m., by one reckoning. I myself showed up a noon — more because it fit my schedule than because of shrewd timing. My wait turned out to be an hour.

Even one hour is a long time to stand in line by Cranbrook standards. But stand in line we did. By the time I arrived, the lineup snaked from the ticket booths in the Rec Plex lobby, through the lobby into the concourse, and down along the concourse to the northwest corner. The line for the morning crowd, the two-and-a-half-hour people, reached around the rink to the northeast corner. But really, what’s an hour or two in the scheme of things. The important thing is the psychology of waiting in line for ZZ Top tickets in Cranbrook.

I was well-armed with patience as I walked into the concourse and down to the end of the line. On the other hand, I did have an exact two-hour time limit, whereupon if I wasn’t at the booths, I would have to leave my spot, even if I had waited in line for two hours. This added a certain frisson of anxiety, which made my patience even more noble.

We were all patient in that line. But of course, what else are we going to do — freak out and riot?

The demographics of the line were interesting. Everyone seemed represented, from teenagers to seniors, from bearded bluecollar types to the haut bourgeosie. Just goes to show — ZZ Top can pull them in.

I chatted with my neighbours in line, mostly asking them if my taking my eight-year-old daughter to see ZZ Top was a sign of bad parenting. My neighbours assured me this was not so.

Every ten minutes, the line would shuffle ahead three steps or so. There was a tall fellow farther ahead in the line whom I could see, who didn’t seem to move at all when we did this. This led me to conclude that the line was just tightening up, to give itself the illusion of motion.

There is another illusion — waiting in line plays weird tricks with space perception. Don’t look back, for example; it looks like you haven’t moved at all. And sometimes, those three shuffling steps seem ridiculously insignificant. At other times, it’s like you’re wearing seven-league boots.

At one point I noticed a seating map on the concourse wall, about five paces ahead. It became my goal to get to that map, to pick out my seats. Oh when, oh when will I reach the map, I cried inside. Oh why can’t I get to that map? But I finally did. I picked out some seats with my daughter’s potential enjoyment in mind. If I had been going myself, I may have opted for the VIP package, so I could hang out with the band before and after the show (I swear my credit card started squirming in my pocket as I had this thought — like a living thing).

All of a sudden, the line seemed to spurt ahead — all of a sudden I could see the lobby. As I got closer to the front, my space/time limbo started getting replaced by more anxiety. Should I buy extra tickets? What if they sell out before I get there? Will the ticket booths close for lunch? Is this just madness, anyway, standing in line? What if my seats are in the middle of a bunch of violent rowdies? What if ZZ Top only plays songs from their sequencer period? (All of a sudden, “Backdoor Medley” from the “Fandango” album started pounding through my head. “Relax,” I said to myself. “ZZ Top says it’s alright.”)

I can see the front of the line. I amuse myself by waiting until the first in line walks up to a ticket window, and then counting seconds to see how long each customer takes. But we shuffle forward. Oh my God, I’m at the front of the line, credit card squirming in my pocket, “Sharp-Dressed Man” playing at high volume in my head, the woman in the booth calling “next” to me, the line muttering behind me. Quick, quick, decide …