I started Sunday morning off by being a dumbass. I spent a shitload of money on beer for myself and Mrs. Troublemaker on Saturday night due to not having the beer bag to carry around my already-purchased beverages. I wasn’t going another night without it, so I called Monkey up to see if I could meet him somewhere to retrieve it.
But he did say he’d look for the bag, so I thanked him and told him I would give him a call back after I hit the Artist’s Alley to collect my Kelley Jones sketch. Jones had told me he would work on the sketch Saturday. On the way there, I saw this lovely lady doing a little modeling outside of the Hilton:
After using what was probably an inappropriate number of kilobytes on that lady, I made my way to the artist room, headed for Jones’ table and was severely bummed out. It was bare. Like, Kelley Jones has left the Con bare. Ouch. If anybody out there knows how to get in touch with Kelley Jones, let me know.
So I went to see if Tom Feister was there. My long-time readers may remember Mr. Feister as the artist behind the amazing GI Joe Origins prints that got destroyed in the flood last year. I had been in contact with Feister since a couple of months after the flood because the Missus had convinced me it would be worth my time to at least try and see if I could get replacement prints. She was right (as she most often is) and Tom is a super-nice guy who was more than willing to hook me up with new prints.
I went up to his table and introduced myself and he told me he wasn’t able to get all five prints done in time, but he had three. I gave him the copy of (this cartoon) he did that I had printed up and told him I thought it was pretty great, so he signed that. I also got what is probably the coolest thing I have gotten from a convention. It turns out Feister has done concept art for several different child-oriented licenses. Among those are the DC Super Friends line by Mattel. He was selling his sketches there and had one of the Robin figure I had ordered from the accursed Mattycollector for Lil’ Troublemaker.
He signed it to my son and quoted an absurdly low price for everything. Like, you might not be able to eat at McDonald’s with that amount of money low. I handed him what was probably still not enough and he tried to refuse, but I told him how great his work was and how much Lil’ T was going to love that Robin and that it was well worth it to me. He told me to give him a call and I could drop by the studio (he’s local) the next time I was downtown on a Thursday or Friday. What a great guy.
So I went from being extra-bummed to feeling pretty darned happy (I wouldn’t trade that Robin sketch for anything). Now it was time for that stupid I mentioned earlier.
Monkey called and told me he had found my beer bag (awesome!) and that he would meet me in the lobby of the Hyatt. That was pretty great. He sounded like he was having a rough day and I was really appreciative that he would come all the way downstairs just to bring me my bag. I’m sure it was enough of a pain in the ass just looking for it amongst several people’s stuff.
I made my way to the hotel and called Monkey when I got there. He told me to meet him at the bar to the left of the entrance, so I went over and sat down. I was directly facing the elevators and couldn’t help but notice how shitty the façade in front of them make the otherwise pretty classy Hilton look. It’s this giant panel that makes it look like it is under construction.
Monkey called and said he was beside the elevators. I looked around and didn’t see him. I told him I was right in front of the bar. I kind of juts turned in a circle, because the Hilton lobby really isn’t all that big… And then it hit me.
Me - “You said ‘Hyatt’ didn’t you?”
Monkey – “You are a fucking idiot. I’m going back upstairs and going to sleep.”
He didn’t actually say that, but he would’ve been well within his rights to.
He told me Evil was going to meet me in the Marriot and presumably went back upstairs to go to sleep.
I met up with Evil at the Papa John’s stand in the Marriot, which was a little nerve-wracking since I agreed to meet there without knowing exactly where it was. Most of my time in the Marriot is not spent in the sort of frame of mind where you stand around memorizing floor plans. I’m not fucking Jason Bourne or some shit. That’s why it always takes me at least a day to remember where the stupid skybridge is; and I usually forget around 2 AM.
But thankfully John had put his stand about where I thought it was. We arrived at the same time and made what would have looked to the casual observer like two idiots making the worst drug/money handoff in the history of crime. I was actually a little concerned that some overzealous security personnel might pull us aside for a bomb-related chat. Or worse, one of the D*C Event staff retards.
We were both headed for the Exhibitors’ Halls, so we hung out for a while.
We tooled around the Exhibitors’ Halls and the Dealers’ Room and Evil helped me look for a toy for my son that Mrs. Troublemaker had seen and for some reason not bought (similar to the Amy Pond situation). He helped me locate the booth, but the Bizarro figure in question was long gone. Then we hit a t-shirt stand that had kid-sized shirts. I got a Robin shirt for Lil’ T and Evil got a couple for his son.
On the way out, we were accosted by Mrs. Troublemaker’s friend/boss. She thanked me profusely for letting her son crash in my room the night before. Oh – I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?
You don’t need all the details, but the lady in question – we’ll call her Frigg – has a son we’ll call Thor. Thor ended up at the Con under less-than–ideal circumstances and needed a place to sleep. Shortly after she left on Saturday night, Mrs. Troublemaker called me up and asked if Thor could sleep in my room. This was fine by me. I just told her that a little monetary compensation would be necessary.
Thor found me at some point and I gave him my room key and told him not to touch my stuff or drink my beer. He was fine with that.
Many hours and more than a few adult beverages later, I headed to my room. I remembered as I walked by the empty front desk that I did not have a key. This is pretty amazing given how drunk I was. I paused at the front desk for a bit to see if anybody would come out and nobody did. So I went to the room and knocked. There was no answer, so I knocked again. Actually, I started beating on the door like a maniac, because it took me about two seconds to get really pissed off and be furiously angry for putting myself in this position – where I could not access a room that I had paid for because somebody else had done something stupid. Admittedly, though, I had too.
There was still no answer, so I called Mrs. Troublemaker and started yelling about how I couldn’t believe I had agreed to this and I should’ve known what was going to happen and blah, blah, blah. It would be really funny at this point to tell you I was on the wrong floor or even at the wrong room, but I wasn’t. I was just pissed.
I ended my recriminatory phone call and went back to the front desk. Thankfully, there was a young lady there and she gave me a new room key no problem. I went back up and considered pulling Thor out into the hall on the bedsheet. I was too tired. That little bastard didn’t wake up the whole time.
So anyway, Frigg thanked me profusely for letting Thor stay in my room. I busted out Mrs. Troublemaker’s favorite response to thanks:
“Say it with money.”
So there’s a Sunday story that was actually a Saturday night story, but not really because technically it was Sunday morning.
After that me and Evil split up to get some rest before the final night of debauchery.
Until next time, stay creepy