AN MTV STAFFER APPROACHES AND GREETS US: "HEY BOYS, MY NAME'S BOOGIE." WE check out Boogie. He's large black man with a black stocking cap. Two young women stand at his side. "And these," he continues, "are my friends Tatyana and Delia." We check out Tatyana and Delia. One looks like Tootie from "The Facts of Life," the other, Jackee from "227."

Boogie explains, "These two ladies are gonna join you in line. Okay?" We nod our assent. "Okay," Boogie confirms. Boogie has a bad case of wandering hands. While he stands and chats with his friends, he massages Delia's rear. She doesn't object. Boogie buries his head in Delia's inviting locks. "Ooooh baby," he moans, "you've got a nice weave." Tatyana roars in amusement. Delia is not pleased.

"Why do you have to tell everyone I've got a weave!" she objects. "Now the whole freakin' line knows I got a mother-fucking weave!"

Sorry, baby," Boogie consoles her, grabbing her left butt cheek. "It's all good. You're still beautiful," Boogie turns to us, "Now I've got a to go work. You boys take care of my ladies."

By this time our position in line has greatly improved. We can see where MTV has set up rope corrals and a stage where, later in the day, there will be live entertainment. A woman in "Wannabee a VJ" garb raises a megaphone and addresses our section of the queue:

"All contest participants must present proof of eligibility to work in the United States. You must have either a passport or a driver's license AND a social security card. If you do not, you will not be permitted to proceed any further."

Panic erupts. My daddy once told me never to leave home without my social security card on my person and so I am golden. Aaron, Josh, Tatyana and Delia are not so lucky.

"Fuck."

"Oops."

"Sheeyat."

"Lord-have-mercy."

"What to do? Who can solve our problem? Who can pull some strings, move some mountains? Our savior is obvious: Boogie.

"Hey, Tatyana, maybe Boogie can hook us up," Aaron suggests.

"Yea," she replies, "maybe he can. Boogie! Booooooogie!" Boogie comes running.

"What's up, baby?"

"We don't have IDs. Can you get us in?"

"Oh baby. That's a problem." Boogie takes a moment to think. He takes his women under his arm. We stare at him pleadingly. He whispers something to the ladies and disappears. Whatever scheme has been hatched, we are clearly not going to be the beneficiaries. A few minutes later, Boogie returns and fetches his friends. We Watch as he ushers them past the checkpoint. Bastard.

We watch Momma's Little Girl, Jacqueline, pass through. We watch the Playpen patron pass through. It's our turn. At this point we have stood on a Manhattan sidewalk for five hours in the freezing rain and have accomplished absolutely nothing. If Aaron and Josh are turned away, our entire odyssey will be for naught. Our bouts of pneumonia--which we already feel coming on--will be in the name of no higher cause. In short, we will have to return to Harvard, cold, wet and beaten.

The MTV officer requests our IDs. Hoping to buy my companions some time, I hand over mine first. In the middle of the exchange, Aaron has a brainstorm. He decides to overwhelm the inspector with a hailstorm of paperwork. He tosses out his driver's license, his school ID, his credit cards, even his USTA membership card from the 10th grade. Josh follows suit, emptying his wallet on the unsuspecting bouncer. The line begins to back up. People start shouting. The bouncer panics. He shoves all of our IDs back at us and slaps on entry-bands. We're in. We've crossed the Rubicon.