I purchased two $27 ‘advance admission tickets’ for the 2013 Motor City Comic Convention. I was looking forward to seeing some stars, attending some panels, and overpaying for food.
I got in line with my fiancée (It was out 11 year anniversary date), and another friend at 9:30. The line stretched all the way around the Suburban Financial Showplace. There were literally hundreds of people, not counting the line for people who had paid extra to meet Stan Lee or the Boondock Saints. But it was sunny and we were in good spirits.
Then 10:00 came.
We were told that advance ticket holders would get in ½ an hour earlier than those poor suckers who bought tickets on site. Not only did the Suburban Financial Showplace merge both sets of holders into one line, that line didn’t even start moving until 11:00; half an hour AFTER the on-site ticket holders were supposed to be let in!
We later found out they’d run the Stan Lee and Boondock saints tickets though before starting our line. We got in at 11:45. Clearly, the Suburban Financial Showplace was NOT equipped to handle a convention of this size. We were just lucky it was warm and sunny. Had it been raining or snowing (Michigan!) we would have been SOL.
As always, Harley Quinns abounded.
Upon gaining entrance, and standing in line for some free swag (Star Trek hats! WOOT!) we wandered around, meeting artists and buying trinkets. At 12:50 I headed to the back, behind the media guests (such greats at Walter Keonig, Micky Dolenz, and Cary Elways) to speaker room 3 to a long anticipated panel on Comic Book Censorship from 1937 through 1960.
Room 1 was there. Room 2 was there. There was no room 3 to be seen.
I asked a security person where room 3 was and was told “There is no room 3.” I went to the front and was told it was outside our hall, closer to the other conventions consisting of sports autograph memorabilia and osteoporosis. While I was told this, a family with a 5 year old boy missing was told that security couldn’t ‘really do anything’ to help them find their missing son.
I walked past real Doctors in my Dr. Horrible outfit. I got some looks.
Yep, that's the one.
When I got to the small, air-conditioned, darkened room, it was a welcome relief. I took off my labcoat and chatted with the 20 or so attendees that were waiting.
And waiting.
After 15 minutes, some people left. I thought the speaker might be having difficulty finding the room, as I had. I stuck it out until 1:45, vainly hoping he’d show and I’d get my presentation.
The only person who came by was a busboy with a water bottle. When I asked the management what happened, he professed bafflement and apologized.
I trudged to Cary Elway’s panel, heart sunk. I’d paid for this? This messy, disappointing, frustrating walk through hell?
You tell 'em Westley!
Then Bahamute gave me my anniversary present: a hand-crafted purple duct tape wallet and some cards of my favorite characters. Then Mr. Elways gave his panel. Then we met him, and he was really nice. So was Micky Dolenz.
The convention is a messy, ill managed, poorly supported, overpriced fiasco. But the people who attend are for the most part (Screw Adam West!) wonderful artist and fans that are all having a great time.
I’m not sure if I’ll go back to the convention. It’s been my anniversary date spot since my first anniversary 10 years ago. Every year it gets bigger, the guests get more fabulous, the tickets get more expensive, the lines get longer, and the management gets worse.
If I do go back, it’ll be on a Friday. It’ll be because there’s a guest I really want to meet. But it won’t be in high hopes. And it probably won’t be in costume (I was mistaken for Dr. Insano at one point. Score!).
No matter what, I have fond memories of the convention from years past. And I’ll keep them boarded and bagged with the best moments in my golden age. That’s a promise, True Believers.
