When Whole Foods finally came to New York City, it was an overdue appearance and an instant hit. When the chain opened a store in Union Square, it was an obvious match between purveyor and clientele. But a note of awe must still surround the mind-boggling popularity of the Union Square location.

I stopped in last night to pick up dinner after work and was astounded by the check-out lines. The express line stretched—try and picture this—from the registers through six basic lines, down to single file past the flowers, along the length of the prepackaged foods bin, and down the salad bar to the prepared food counter, where it wrapped back past itself alongside and past the sushi bar. I got on line next to the desserts. Doing some counting to pass the time, I estimated the line to be 85 people long at a minimum, and likely north of 100 when I was able to count the feeder lines close to the register.

Think about that. A hundred people waiting to check out in the express line alone.

Whole Foods did its absolute best in planning for the crowds. The store is split into three levels, with most shopping in the basement and a large percentage of the ground floor given to checkout. Thirty-two cash registers are fully staffed, and two or more guides stand at the head of the queues, directing customers to registers as they become available. Management has expertly monitored buying patterns; during the after-work crunch, for example, 75 percent of the cashiers are processing express orders, and the number of staff guiding customers on line increases to six or more. A Manhattan pharmacy this ain’t.

Despite that, the store runs the risk of being overrun by its own success. Where can it possibly put 100 people waiting to pay? Checkout was remarkably civil and fast: I paid within 10 minutes of getting on line, and I saw no cutting or complaining. What I did see were people doing double-takes at the line and walking out of the store, and a nearly empty salad bar and prepared foods area instead of the usual happy crowds. I know I wouldn’t wait in a line that length to buy a salad and an iced tea.

I doubt Whole Foods can do much to help the situation. My guess is that the local Garden of Eden and Food Emporium will see a nice little uptick as some customers return for their quick shopping needs. Which, to me, is the best result: the more places I can go for my groceries, the better. After all, abundant selection is part of the glory of living in New York.

“Government statistics show there are about 1.7 automobile caused fatalities for every 100,000,000 vehicle-miles. If you drive one mile to the store to buy your Mega Millions ticket and then return home, you have driven two miles. Thus the probability that you will join this statistical group is 2 x 1.7 / 100,000,000 = 0.000000034. This can also be stated as ‘One in 29,411,765-‘. Thus, if you drive to the store to buy your Mega Million ticket, your chance of being killed (or killing someone else) is nearly 6 times greater than the chance that you will win the Mega Millions Jackpot.”

—“Mega Millions Odds” by Durango Bill

“The new four-week daylight saving extension won’t save fuel or lives, but it will put our clocks seriously out of sync with Europe’s, costing airlines $150 million a year. It will foul up clocks in computers, confuse trade with our continental neighbors and make it impossible for many Jews to recite sunrise prayers at home.”

—“Endless Summer” by Michael Downing in the New York Times.

The pending extension to Daylight Savings Time in Congress is a sad example of government doing the wrong thing for the right cause. Energy conservation comes from tightened fuel economy, recycling, and emissions regulations, not by clinging to the afternoon sun.

Extending DST won’t “save energy” just by keeping the sun up later. Lights will still need to run overnight on highways, city streets, and 24-hour facilities, and most stores won’t change their operating hours. Try as they may, Congress can’t mandate a shorter nightfall.

More importantly, solving one problem (people like when it’s light out later) simply creates another. The shift to a longer DST period means that the sun will rise at extremely uncomfortable hours. For example, under the proposed change, sun-up won’t happen in New York until 7:55 a.m. the night before DST ends, compared with 7:23 a.m. in the existing schedule. In fact, the entire four-week fall extension will put sunrise past 7:30 a.m. I used to get to high school by 7:40—how will students feel when they spend weeks or months in homeroom while the sun is still down?

Representatives Ed Markey (D., Mass.) and Fred Upton (R., Mich.) must be proud of the energy-conscious labels they can wear in their next election cycles, but this is terrible policy. I suppose it’s par for the course in government, though; whatever sounds good on the TV news can get approved. Heck, with all this grandstanding in Washington, perhaps the 28-hour day can get an endorsement someday.

My apartment building is currently up in arms about a redesign of the lobby space that isn’t going very well. I’ve been reading the mailing list chatter for the past few weeks, and the overall complaint arc unveils some great basic project-management pointers.

My apartment building is currently up in arms about a redesign of the lobby space that isn’t going very well. I’ve been reading the mailing list chatter for the past few weeks, and the overall complaint arc unveils some great project-management pointers.

Don’t work halfway. The revamp of my lobbies is only touching half the decor: new tiles replacing hardwood, new ceiling paint and lighting, and new furniture. The designer did not touch the walls, columns, or border tiles. This has created a nifty mismatch, as well-marbled and worn tile abuts shiny new tiles without much marbling. Residents hate the look, as do I, but there’s a lesson in here: why rip up half a floor, or change the ceiling without updating the walls? If an effort doesn’t seem to be creating an optimal output, it’s probably better to wait until the project has the funding and momentum to do all of it, rather than retrofitting items that are hard to match to the existing ones.

Keep the communication lines open. A few years ago, when the building redid its residence hallways, the board made several mockup units to display the proposed designs. Some of this process was disastrous; unsurprisingly, no one could come to an agreement on what designs worked, and the board ultimately had to push through the least-controversial design. For the lobbies, the board, figuring no good could come of it, decided not to post a design for comment, which has added fuel to the fire. At least if residents had seen the designs before construction began, they’d know what to expect, and any disappointment would be somewhat mitigated.

Don’t grant and then remove access. As noted above, the board lessened its transparency from the last project to the current one. This is a bad move: no one happily endures a power shift from democracy to oligarchy. People used to being in-the-know expect, rightfully, to stay that way. The building also went from great explanatory signage, updated weekly, to three weeks without notices. The longer the community goes without information, the more unrest generates.

Open forums solve nothing. The only thing that has come out of the mailing list posts has been aggravation. An organized dialogue, with questions sent to and answered by the board, would serve a far better purpose than the virtual graffiti that we’re currently enduring.

Imagine if the board president had done the following instead:

1. Announce that a renovation design has been tentatively approved.

2. Post the design and solicit feedback.

3. Create a revised design and present it back to the community as “finalized using your input.”

4. Give a weekly status report, including any bad news with explanations.

5. Midway through the project, hold an open-forum meeting with all interested residents.

With a little project management, my lobbies would have a cleaner, more universally accepted design and a lot less bickering. (Simply put, any side griping could have been politely deferred with, “I wish you had come to the meeting,” “Did you see the initial design?” etc.) Instead, my in-box is like a soap opera: entertaining but tiresome with no end in sight.