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Comicon Preview Day, Chicago
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I flew into Chicago ahead of Eric and took the subway from O’Hare straight downtown to the Loop, then walked a few blocks east to our fancy hotel. His company would pick up the tab for our shared suite, but I wasn’t about to waste my own money on a cab ride all the way from the airport. Old habits die hard. I’d been broke in this city once before. I didn’t intend to be broke again.
The convention center was south of the hotel, opposite Grant Park. Chicago had other convention centers, in Rosemont and on the South Side, but this was brand new, smack downtown in the business center of the city on the west side of Michigan Avenue. Fantastic Comics had taken a large block of rooms at the nearest luxury hotel, and rented event rooms for special VIP invitation-only parties during the comicon. Plus, of course, FC had a lavish, enormous booth in the convention center exhibition hall.
Sarah and Ardis arrived at the hotel suite in costume, and I quickly donned mine.
“Good idea, us going to preview night together. Cosplay is more fun if we do it in groups,” Ardis said.
“Plus, we won’t be harassed as much,” Sarah said, with a dark expression.
I hadn’t gone to a comicon alone since art school. “Is it still so bad?”
“Worse. Some guys have a real chip on their shoulder. They act as if the entire fantasy world of comic books, sci-fi film, and gaming belongs exclusively to males.”
“That’s nuts,” I said. “So we have the usual horny creeps, and another layer of guys being creepy for sexist reasons?”
Sarah nodded.
“Oh, wonderful.”
“You’re making too big a deal of it,” Ardis said, frowning at Sarah. “We look fantastic. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”
We did look good. Ardis wore a classic Sailor Moon costume, the white navy blouse with a big red girly bow in front, a short puffy blue skirt, elbow-length white gloves, and red boots. She’d donned a blond wig with two very long pony tails, plus hair ornaments. In tribute to the manga art style, she’d exaggerated her eye makeup to make her eyes seem bigger and rounder.
Sarah showed a lot of flesh as a fiery siren in a red strapless bodice, boy shorts, and fishnet stockings. She had an eye mask, a headdress, and a long purple cape that swirled around her. Fancy red gauntlet gloves, too.
My blue outfit had been adapted from a man’s costume in a hurry and didn’t bare any girl parts. Long sleeves with white gauntlet gloves, high neck, long pants. There were no peepholes in my bodice to show my boobs, and my pants went all the way up to my natural waistline without any wild slashes to show my hips, my wax job, or my behind. Granted, the costume was form-fitting Spandex, but the material was fairly thick. I’d needed elasticity when I was a temporary superheroine. I put my hair in a ponytail to keep it out of the way during battle. That was my uniform, the real garb of a working superheroine.
“We look marvelous,” I said. People in the lobby stared at us as we exited the elevator. “Guess we’re the first cosplayers they’ve seen. By tomorrow no one will give us a second glance.”
The walk to the convention center was short. Swarms of people came up from the below-ground railroad station, many of them in costume, or in partial costume, carrying masks, weapons, shields, headdresses, and every other conceivable add on. Anime characters as well as superheroes walked towards the convention center. I began to smile. These were my people. A little goofy, sometimes socially inept, and often downright annoying. Bring it on.
We plunged into the maelstrom of ticket buyers and ticket holders. The exhibitor passes I’d obtained from FC Comics got us in the doors with minimum lining up and waiting. Lucky us. The noise of thousands of people talking at once overwhelmed us despite the enormously high ceiling. It could have been a hundred feet up. All convention centers are ugly, and this new one wasn’t any different, a cavernous steel-and-glass box with a huge main concourse and windowless exhibition halls on all sides. We could barely hear each other speaking.
We consulted our info packets. Sarah had an app already downloaded onto her phone that listed her faves. “First stop, the exhibition hall. It’ll only get worse as the day wears on,” she shouted.
The massive convention center was already a zoo. We couldn’t see the end of the concourse because it was crawling with people. The ambient noise was a little less as we got away from the entrance, and finally, we could talk again.
“Let’s head for the indie part of Artists’ Alley,” I proposed.
“You don’t belong there anymore, now that you’ve sold out and are drawing corporate comics,” Ardis said.
“You’re not serious, are you?” I asked. Had I destroyed my credibility so easily? “I only did one little series, and by the way, it’s being canceled.”
“What a shame. Low sales?”
“I guess.”
At Ardis’ look, I shrugged. “Eric never showed me the sales figures.”
“Was anything done to promote it to geek girls?” Sarah asked.
I gave her a sarcastic twist of my mouth. “A tiny push to the education market, but nothing for the rest.”
“There are preview mags aimed at the comic book store market.”
“Girls and women don’t wander into those stores. If they do, they get treated like dirt.”
Sarah said, “Bitter much? What’s got you so riled?”
I explained about Swoonie being killed, not just canceled. Their outraged sympathy was soothing.
We three were getting quite a few looks from other attendees. We did our share of staring, too. After walking a full city block down the main concourse, we came to the entrance to the exhibition hall, often called the dealers’ room. It wasn’t the only spot that would have exhibits we wanted to see, but it was the most likely to get so overcrowded that the fire marshal would limit access to a “one in, one out” rule. We wanted to be inside before that happened.
The reverb wasn’t as bad inside the giant exhibit hall where the dealers had set up their wares and the many large companies had elaborate booths. The cloth-covered dealers’ tables and the booths brought in by the big media companies absorbed sound.
We roamed the aisles, looking at everything and everybody. Lots of cosplayers around in well-executed costumes. Body type didn’t stop anyone, either. We saw tiny Supermans and big fat Batmans, and everything in between. A lot of flesh hanging out, much more than Sarah or Ardis were showing. I, of course, was completely covered and soon was sweating. “Is it hot in here, or am I overdressed?” I asked.
A guy we didn’t know ogled me and said, “Feel free to remove your top.”
We rolled our eyes and ignored him.
Sarah said, “You’re wearing far too much costume. Plus, it’s very generic. Who’s the character, anyway?”
Oops. Hadn’t thought of that. Of course she would ask. “I’m...uh, a makeshift heroine. I call myself Temporary Superheroine.”
“Cute idea,” Ardis nodded. “You look authentic enough, except you don’t have a chest symbol.”
“That’s because I put it together in a hurry,” I replied. “Anyway, who needs to give the creeps an excuse to stare at my chest?”
“They’ll stare no matter what,” Sarah predicted.
“Let ’em look. They’d better not take our photos without permission or act rowdy,” Ardis said.
“How do you define rowdy?” I asked.
“Touching. Calling out obscene things,” Ardis replied.
“Behaving as if they’re in a strip club and we’re the pole dancers,” Sarah said.
We consulted our maps and went straight for the movie company booths. That was where we were most likely to see celebrities on this first day, which was Sarah’s major goal. TV show stars would be around this whole weekend, but in more exclusive special rooms within the convention center.
As we walked, strangers called out to us. “Hey, nice costume.” That was okay.
“Hey, nice tits.” Not so okay. The guy who said it was staring at Sarah’s chest.
“I try to remind myself that not all men are pigs,” Ardis said.
“I don’t even try,” I replied. “Some guys are losers.”
“I'm thinking seriously about reporting the incident,” Sarah said. She pointed at one of the many anti-harassment posters prominently on display. It said, “Cosplayers are not here to entertain you.”
“Which one? Is ‘Nice costume’ as unacceptable as ‘Nice tits’?”
“That second guy specifically broke the rules.” She stared daggers at him. “Look, he’s harassing that girl now.”
We all looked, and sure enough, the guy who had called out “Nice tits” was bothering a teenage girl. She wore a Princess Tutu costume, basically a classic white prima ballerina outfit with pink petticoats. He was a lot taller than her, and he loomed over her, too close. From her desperate side glances, she was obviously uncomfortable and seeking help. We looked around for a security official, but there weren’t any.
Sarah shouted, “Leave her alone, you creep.” Ardis and I took up the cry. “Harasser! Creep! Leave her alone.”
Other people in the aisle heard and turned to look. The girl was in tears now, and the guy looked shocked.
“You should be thrown out,” I yelled. “Where’s a security guard? Somebody call security right now and kick this creep out.” A circle formed around us, and others in the crowd muttered about how he was spoiling the happy place.
Sarah said, “I’m not going to let him escape.” She charged up to the creep and used her “Don’t mess with me” voice. “Back away from her NOW! Hands UP!”
The guy was stunned. He even looked a little frightened, as well he should. Sarah was a cop in real life. She probably was packing, and she knew a million ways to hurt someone without the gun. Her aggressive manner transcended her sexy costume. He backed away from his latest victim.
“Don’t move,” she commanded him. “Don’t even think of trying to run away now that we’ve caught you harassing again.” The authority in her voice and the hostile glares from the crowd around him were enough to make him freeze.
A security person pushed through the crowd, a tall man with a glazed look in his eye indicating that he was in the middle of an overwhelming job. “All right, what’s the problem here?”
Sarah explained what had happened. When the teenage girl looked far too upset to make a formal complaint, Sarah said, “I’ll make the complaint. Not only did he harass her, but he harassed me first. I want zero tolerance, the way your posters promise. I’ll go with you to make sure you revoke his badge and physically remove him.”
The crowd around, plus Ardis and I, all cheered. People yelled, “Do it!” “Kick him out!” “We don’t need creeps here in our happy place.”
The security guard indicated with an angling shake of his head for the harasser to go with him. The creep looked shell shocked, but obediently followed.
Sarah apologized to Ardis and me. “I’ll catch up with you later, or tomorrow.” Then she took off after them.
Ardis attempted to soothe the girl. “I hope you know you’re safe here. Did you come with friends?”
“I—came alone,” she said. Her tears had stopped, but she looked dazed from the attention the incident had drawn.
Another young teenage girl from the crowd ringing us stepped forward. She wore a sparkly costume also inspired by manga. She said, “I’ll be your friend. We can do the comicon together.” The first girl flashed her a relieved look.
Ardis said, louder, “The good geeks win again.” The crowd smiled and laughed, as the two young girls exchanged tentative smiles and began to get to know each other.
Ardis and I continued down the aisle, gawking at the elaborate displays. Movie costumes. Cars from movies. Scenes from movies playing on televisions. I was sensing a theme here. Movies.
Ardis and I posed next to some giant cutouts of characters from a TV show, one of many riffing on medieval European styles. The local network affiliate was pushing the program by promising to put our photos on their site. We just did selfies.
We buzzed along, looking at booth after booth featuring all kinds of movies, television, and game-related merchandise. Some comics, too. The aisles were more and more filled with people.
Then the lights went out. As in zero lights on in a windowless exhibit hall. I was dead certain there was an automatic auxiliary power system, yet the safety lights did not come on.
After the first moment of shock, when everybody was silent, people around us started to move and talk again. Lightsabers were clicked on. Sonic screwdrivers glowed. People with LED lights as part of their costumes appeared as heads without bodies, or bodies without heads. A few booths had a handful of dedicated lights that must be running on battery power. We weren’t in total darkness, but close enough.
The overhead lights stayed off. We should have heard walkie-talkies from Security. We should have heard alarms. Instead, as people turned their cell phones to flashlight mode, we heard clicks. Slowly, a tide of cell phone flashlights clicked on. Still too much darkness.
“That’s better,” Ardis said.
“Is it?”
The tenor of the crowd’s exclamations began to change. People were louder. Now that they could see, sort of, their voices called out. People yelled for the lights as if we were in a movie theater and a projectionist merely had to be reminded to flip them. I didn’t think so.
A hundred feet away, a woman screamed. Then another. Farther away, an angry male voice demanded, “Security. Where the hell are you?”
I began to be uneasy. “If someone panics and starts running for the exit, we could be trampled,” I said to Ardis. “Let’s get inside a solid-looking booth, where we’ll be safe.”
She nodded and we scoped out our immediate area. The biggest and sturdiest-looking booth was already jammed with people who’d had the same idea. The closest booth held an array of t-shirts, crystals, swords, and posters, behind the solid row of tables. The booth runners looked ready to wield their swords to defend their wares. One of them, a tough-looking guy with seriously tattooed arms, pulled a sheathed sword down from the punchboard display behind him. We weren’t the only people edging toward the tables.
“Uh, I don’t think they’ll let us in,” Ardis said.
The cries and shouts of the crowd all around us accelerated. We had only a few seconds left. “Turn your flashlight off,” I said, clicking mine off, too. I grabbed Ardis by the hand. We pushed toward the tables, making excuses as we wove around the people who were trying to climb over. Nearly invisible, we ducked down and lifted the tablecloth, quickly scooting underneath. Among cardboard cartons smelling of fast food lunches, we crouched in the dark and listened as the crowd outside became a yelling, screaming mass.
Ardis said, “We can’t stay here. They’ll swarm the table and crush us.” The wood above us groaned as she spoke.
“If they don’t crush each other first,” I said. “Listen.”
We heard the sounds of struggle, of arms slapping other arms, and feet kicking other feet. People yelled at each other. We saw flickers of light through the tablecloth. The table shifted again, and creaked loudly.
“It won’t hold,” Ardis said.
The screams and shouts accelerated. They came faster and louder. Noises of packages being jammed into other packages as people pushed against each other, of people fighting each other, surrounded us. I shivered in our cold little spot of bare concrete.
The table above us didn’t groan again, but the mass of people did. A kind of keening arose from all sides, as we heard people losing their breath in their struggles.
“They’re killing each other,” Ardis said. “Oh, my god.”
The lights came back on.
Even hidden under the green tablecloth, with corrugated boxes blocking the sides, we saw the bright lights. We heard silence again, and then laughter. Laughter?