I entered the bookstore last night, and left two hours later with a trio of texts and a mild identity crisis.

The culturally vigilant, as well as most parents and fantasy fans, are of course aware that today marks the release date of the sixth Harry Potter novel, The Half-Blood Prince. Then again, if you are one of those people, chances are you won’t even read this for a week or so, as your time in between will be devoured exclusively by the reading of that book. In that case, there’s also a strong likelihood that you are among those who irradiated me with self-doubt in the wee hours.

To begin with, I am not one of your Pottermaniacs. Indeed, for quite a long period I resisted all things Potter using a force field of cantankerous will power. This was not because I didn’t believe that J.K. Rowling’s snowballing opus was the sort of thing that would appeal to me; quite the opposite. But the contrarian in me tends to stubbornly resist cultural widgets when they reach a certain critical mass of popularity. I’ll then refuse all efforts to assimilate me into the collective, until at last my inner contrarian’s voice is drowned out by that of my inner geek looking for nourishment.

Which brings me to last night. I had finally caved last year and borrowed the first Potter book from the Plaistow Public Library at the reverent urgings of a friend. I then gobbled up each succeeding volume they stocked, finally opening my wallet at a retail spot regarding the fifth book. By now I was another helpless victim of the phenomenon, another clone, and the natural next step in this disease was to linger at a midnight bookstore opening for the sixth.

I had already determined to view Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (which is, by the way, a delicious fruity lozenge of absurd cinematic goodness), and after deciding to enjoy that film from the Loser Chair, I felt my geek flag fluttering grandly like Old Glory. (The location where I usually see movies has in each theater a solitary seat, standing out defiantly in the middle of the aisle between the middle and rear sections. What I have dubbed the Loser Chair is more than just a chair; it’s a declaration to the world that yes, you are out at the movies all by yourself, and you value your arm and leg room more than the perceptions of a theater full of strangers.) Theater and bookstore residing in the same shopping center, it made sense to make the night a double feature.

It was upon entering the latter of these that my self-image began to erode. What a spectacle! I found myself, failing any exaggeration, in the midst of a throng of would-be wizards. Dark robes blanketed the assembly, some festooned with the time-honored stars and moons, but most in your more conservative basic black. Wands of various shapes and sizes were a staple accessory. Favorite characters were discussed at length; future plot twists were speculated on. Spells were rehearsed. There was face painting. The atmosphere was that of a Renaissance festival. So help me, a cheer went up as each of the first lucky few to receive their copies hoisted them high over their skulls like the Lombardi trophy. I’ve been to a Star Wars midnight opening or two in my time, and I am here to tell you that those poor sots in their gamey Chewbacca suits have got nothing on the Potter people.

That’s when it dawned on me that I was staring down the throat of a meatier force for geekiness than I represent, and confusion and fear crept into the chambers of my heart one by one. I have always clung to geekdom like a life preserver in a riotous ocean of other identities to which I cannot relate. That life preserver now felt like one of the rafts on the Titanic, one I was of too low a class to board. I, in my summery shirt and shorts, was out of place among my own kind. My geek flag was at half staff. I unshelved a copy of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere and buried my face in a favorite chapter, trying paradoxically to look inconspicuous.

Identity has never been a huge concern of mine, mainly because, as I mentioned, I don’t fall in line with most people. But it’s been something of a splash of cold water to the face to become aware that I don’t even excel within the one sect of devotion to which I do belong. Maybe they’re hiring new history buffs or sports gurus…