My first day back at the day gig, I was relaying some Comic-Con stories to one of my co-workers as well as my regrets that I was unable to get him a Joss Whedon autograph when he said, “Don’t worry about it. After everything you’ve described, I’m thinking about taking the kids out there for next year’s Comic-Con.”
I goggled at him. “Sorry, you can’t. That’s a stupid idea. And you’re stupid for having it.”
He glared at me and I remembered that this was a NEW job, and I was still breaking these people into accepting weird behavior, offensive outbursts and the idea that a human being could constantly smell vaguely like a distillery outflow pipe as daily and normal occurrences. “Sorry, man. I don’t mean to be blunt. But with that said, if you think you’re getting into Comic-Con next year, at least you won’t have to spend time working on a costume, because you’re already the spitting image of a deluded fucking MORON who – ”
“Excuse me, I need to go speak to Human Resources. And maybe my lawyer. Or actually pretty much ANY lawyer.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I said, giving him the kind of jocular punch to the shoulder that I imagine sober people give to their co-workers (And probably opening myself up to an assault charge). “But look: it’s 2010. You need to understand what you’re getting into.
“First of all, remember how I told you about Preview Night?”
“Yeah,” my co-worker said, “That’s when you wander around the convention drunk.”
“Technically, it’s the just FIRST time I do that. Anyway: when it comes to selling Comic-Con tickets, the convention gives preferential treatment to members of the Comic-Con organization.”
“How do you become a member?”
“By being at Comic-Con.”
“Oh.”
“Blowjobs may also help.”
“Wha – ”
“I’m not sure who exactly you would blow. Since you’re looking for the kind of person who would run a comic book convention, I’d normally suggest looking for the bloated, smelly geeks… but if you follow that strategy at Comic-Con, your uvula would swell, burst and fall off before the Hall H line even started moving.”
“I don’t – ”
“Unless, of course, the line was moving because they heard some desperate, ticketless rube was chucking out free blowjobs…”
“Excuse me; I think I see someone from Human – ”
“Anyway,” I interrupted, “This year, all the four-day passes for NEXT year’s Comic-Con that included admission to Preview Night sold out before the place closed on Sunday. It’s the first time that’s ever happened.”
“So?” he asked.
“Dude: it’s not like Comic-Con ever gets SMALLER from year to year. So what that means is: if Preview Night is selling out before the convention is over? NO ONE who has never gone to Comic-Con before will EVER GET INTO PREVIEW NIGHT AGAIN. EVER.”
“Okay… so we won’t be able to get into Preview Night. Big deal.”
“You’re not GETTING IT. Preview night sold out so fast because people are now afraid they can’t get in. And – SURPRISE – now they can’t! Which means that once tickets go on sale to the general public, I’m guessing regular four-day passes’ll sell out in about a week and a half.
“So keep hitting F5 on your browser, dude. And don’t get distracted by petty things like your hungry children crying out for attention because it ultimately won’t matter one way or the other; if you DON’T get tickets they’ll never speak to you again anyway, and if you DO get tickets they’ll be trampelled to death by an eighth of a million geeks following some twisted rumor that Olivia Wilde’s wandering around flossing her ass in a Huntress costume.”
“…that’ll never happen.”
“It will now that I’ve thought of starting it. But anyway: if you follow out the logic behind the ticket sellouts to their final stage, you’ll realize that pretty soon Comic-Con will COMPLETELY sell out before the previous convention is EVEN OVER. Meaning NO ONE new will ever get in.
“The good news about that is that you’ll be able to ride dirt bikes across the convention floor, because EVERYONE will be in line for Hall H.”
“But… why?” my co-worker asked.
“Because that’s where they’ll be holding preregistration for the next Comic-Con,” I replied.
“So why doesn’t the convention just sell more tickets?” he asked.
“Because 125,000 is full capacity for the San Diego Convention Center. The fire marshalls’ll never let them sell more tickets than that. Not even for a bribe; the rumor is that what they want to look the other way is something that just can’t be obtained at any price.”
“What do they want?” he asked.
“Tickets to Comic-Con,” I replied. “Look: as long as it’s held in San Diego, there’s only one thing that can get fresh blood into Comic-Con now: lifeclocks and a carousel. Go Logan’s Run on these savages. Announce on the PA that anyone with a blinky laminate gets exclusive access to a Hall H panel of… something like a Twilight – slash – True Blood Deathmatch, or the public hanging of Joel Schumacher, or… I don’t know; Joss Whedon buttfucking Kevin Smith during a screening of the Star Wars Holiday Special. Whatever.
“Anyway, and when they get in there, WHAMMO! Hose the room down with Sarin nerve gas! Not only will it open up 6,000 passes for next year, but it’ll wipe out the closet cases most likely to pass me off a dose of the Con-SARS.”
“Okay…” he said, slowly backing up a step, “But I heard a rumor that Comic-Con might be moving out of San Diego,” he said.
“Yup. The convention only has a contract with they city to stay until 2012. They’re entertaining offers from other cities, like Vegas and Anaheim.”
“So if the Comic-Con leaves San Diego, do you think I’ll be able to get tickets?” he asked querelously.
“Oh, ABSOLUTELY!” I said, causing him to smile optimistically. “Because if THAT happens, you can fucking have MINE.”
[tags]San Diego Comic-Con 2010, Nerd Prom, dark humor, satire[/tags]
