Wait is hours for seconds with Clinton

ISSAQUAH, Wash. – At Costco, it seems like everything is huge. Giant vitamin bottles, headache pills by the thousand, and 4-pound boxes of Grape Nuts cereal. The spinach comes in bags the size of small pillowcases.

So it seemed oddly fitting Wednesday when former President Bill Clinton, a man of famously vast charisma, intellect and appetites, turned up at one of the cavernous members-only stores to sign his 3-pound new book, “My Life.”

The crowd, of course, was huge. Costco officials tried to keep things manageable, declaring that only Costco members would be allowed in to see Clinton. The day before Clinton arrived, the company announced that it would let people in at 5 a.m. for the 1 p.m. event, but warned people against trying to camp in the parking lot.

They showed up anyway, toting sleeping bags and lawn chairs and hopes of meeting the ex-president. A woman who arrived at 3:30 in the morning was No. 207 in line.

“It was pretty cold,” she said. “One person wanted to buy my coat.”

By midmorning Wednesday, the line was more than 1,500 people long. Clinton had promised to sign 1,000 books, Costco workers said. For anyone after that, getting a signature would be iffy.

The stakes were higher than most for the woman who was No. 1065. Kathy Marquis’ mother, back in Maine, is dying of cancer. Her birthday is August 7th. Marquis, a 55-year-old saleswoman from Monroe, wanted Clinton to sign her mother’s birthday card.

“This is the real reason I came,” she said. “Especially when a parent’s dying, what can you give them to thrill them?”

No way, said the workers overseeing the crowd.

“You’re not going to be able to approach the president with anything but a copy of his book,” said a guy in a yellow jacket. “No photos, no signing pictures, no cell phones.”

So Marquis wouldn’t even be allowed to bring the card to the signing. She tucked the card into her book and hoped.

It was a pretty grueling day in the line. The lucky ones squeezed under a couple of big tents Costco set up. The rest baked in the sun. Some people shielded themselves with umbrellas, cardboard, and jackets pulled over their heads.

“How can he sign 1,000 books without getting writer’s cramp?” wondered one woman in the line. Her baby looked thoughtful, sucking his toes.

It was a diverse crowd: Japanese students, black women, white retirees, a woman in an Indian sari. People near the back of the line fretted and did the math: to sign 1,500 books in the allotted 90 minutes, they calculated, Clinton would have to sign a book every 4 seconds.

As the line wilted in the sun, Costco workers tore open cartons of bottled water, crackers and granola bars, handing them out for free.

“Water!” they cried, holding out bottles.

“Beer!” some in the line shouted back in request. Less lighthearted were the 70 people shuffling in the long line outside the six portable toilets.

“This is history, really,” said 69-year-old Ingrid West, a retired real estate agent. “He was a very effective president, in spite of his personal life. I think he’s going down as one of the great presidents.”

People made friends with their neighbors in line, and in some spots, the talk turned to liberal politics. Among the recurring themes: Monica Lewinsky was a tramp, George W. Bush is a dunce, Fox News is propaganda, and the new Michael Moore movie is a delight, except for some footage of a Saudi beheading.

Democratic politicians apparently know a friendly crowd when they see one – a volunteer for Sen. Patty Murray was registering voters in the line, and Deborah Senn, who’s running for attorney general, passed out fliers.

Shortly after 1 p.m., a vehicle pulled into the back of Costco, prompting a cheer from people in the line. Clinton? Nope. It was the Spiffy Biffy truck, summoned to empty the near-overflowing portable toilets. (Slogan: “If you gotta go, go with us.”) The Spiffy Biffy man smiled and waved.

Sometime around 1:30 p.m., Clinton arrived.

“Elvis is in the building,” a staffer announced to people near the back of the line.

Then more waiting, more heat, and more waiting. Litter piled up around the line: spent water bottles, crushed Choco-Cremes, a Happy Meal, banana peels, a sleeping bag. The going price for one of the wristbands entitling people to a place in line, people told each other, was $50. (Late Tuesday night, autographed copies of “My Life” were selling for $99 to $2,000 on eBay.)

Then the line began to move. People were told to put all their belongings except the book into plastic bags. The books were searched twice. Secret Service agents scanned everyone with metal-detecting wands.

As she waited to be scanned, Marquis decided to take the risk. She tucked the birthday card into her waistband, invisible under her shirt.

Then she silently panicked.

“Oh, my God,” she thought, raising her arms to be scanned. “What if there’s metal in the card? I could be arrested!”

She got through. She and other people – at a run, now – were herded past the Brita water filters, around huge walls of Coke, Pepsi and Corona beer, past the electric toothbrush tips.

And there he was, between the cookware and the power tools. The former president looked exhausted, his white hair and white shirt made whiter by the bright lights. He’s lost weight since he was president, but still has bags under his eyes.

He smiled unceasingly. He shook people’s hands and signed their books. He averaged about 6 seconds per book.

Marquis edged closer, pulling the card out of her pants. It was her turn.

“Please, Mr. President, sign my birthday card,” she stammered. “It’s for my mother. She has cancer.”

Clinton signed the book. A staffer handed it to Marquis.

Then he took the birthday card and signed it, too.

“It was do or die,” Marquis said afterward, elated. “I’ve never been so bold.”

After that, it was back down the hardware aisle, and out of the store. By 4 p.m., an hour and a half after he was scheduled to depart, Clinton was signing the last of about 1,500 copies.

People peered at the signature, a blue squiggle on the title page of the book.

“That poor man,” one woman said to a friend.

“He’s got like mesmerizing blue eyes,” a woman in the parking lot said into her cell phone.

“What a day!” said a man.