After 14 years of tinkering, dozens of producers, approximately 1,800 guitarists, three Kelly Hagen columns and endless taunting from fans and non-fans, Guns N' Roses finally (finally!) released "Chinese Democracy,"an album most of us had already resigned to the category of urban legend.

I will now tell you exactly what it was like when you finally bought that album your grandparents once told you may one day come, in hushed whispers, but you never quite believed their tall tale.

Except, by "you,"Imean "me."Because Idon't know you. Iknow me, and this is my story. But, by all means, feel free to project yourself into the "you" of this story, so as to best feel the history.

You drive up to Best Buy at about 12:10 p.m. on a Sunday, as Sunday was the first day "Chinese Democracy" was on sale, exclusively at Best Buy, and Best Buy only opened its doors at noon. You don't want to get there at exactly noon, for fear of looking too desperate.

You walk through those automatic sliding doors, your toes literally curled with anticipation. This was one of those times where you want to memorize exactly where you were when it happened. Where were you when Kennedy was killed?Where were you when the Berlin Wall came down? Where were you when "Chinese Democracy" finally came out?

You were at Best Buy, walking gingerly upon curled toes.

You almost hope that they've hidden but a single copy of "Chinese Democracy," somewhere within in the store, so you can hunt it, like it were your own personal white whale. And, upon its discovery, maybe you could knife fight some young punk in a leather jacket over it, and upon vanquishing your foe, lift your trophy into the air, screaming, "I have the power!"Then lightning would come down from the heavens and deliver super powers unto you.

Alas, you find a whole bunch of them just sitting in the new releases section. You are more than a little disappointed.

You walk from aisle to aisle, flashing your imminent purchase to each and every shopper. You wait for that moment where another of your ilk will flash his or her own copy back at you, and you two, who never knew each other until that moment, will embrace and jump up and down, then walk hand-in-hand outside of that door, into a world of brave new possibilities, a land of life, of love, of liberty. Together. Hand in hand.

That moment never comes, and some pimply-faced kid in a blue shirt asks you to stop hugging people.

You grab a Sprite and sulk your way up to the checkout lane. "Behold, the mythical griffin,"youdeclare to the cashier as you begin the checkout process. To which, he responds, "What?" and yousay, "Behold … the mythical griffin,"but slower this time. And he says, "What?" and this process repeats itself four or five times, until the guy assumes youare talking about Ken Griffey Jr., and you both walk away, as strangers.

You walk out those sliding doors, into a world where promises made to us, even ones as unlikely as "Chinese Democracy," can be fulfilled. This is our promised land, a "Paradise City,"if you will, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.

Axl Rose, please, take us home.

(You are columnist Kelly Hagen. You can be reached at 250-8259 or kelly.hagen@bismarcktribune.com.)