The Decameron 2.0

Day 7.6 Humor - TIME'S CONVENTION(S) SamSchloesing

It looked like rush hour in the Tokyo subway, but less organized and without white-gloved guards to push people.

It looked like Black Friday at Macy's, but without the murderous stares and the foaming drool.

It looked like a modern Woodstock, but with K-Pop and J-music instead of teeth-played guitar riffs.

It looked like a visit of the pope in South America, but with gods called Toriyama, Abrams or Jobs.

It looked like ... a hell of a crowd!

It was 8.30 on a Saturday morning. The clouds were low and dark-grey, but the place—an ugly exhibition center lost in an ugly Parisian suburb—was packed. From the subway's exit on the central square to the main gate, a packed and colorful crowd was waiting for the convention to start.

Rajesh Shepard (he had chosen his alias himself) had forgotten the exact name of it, but it mentioned Paris (because twenty miles outside the actual city limits was obviously still close enough), and there was a pun with either comics, manga, sci-fi or games.

The atmosphere was easy-going and friendly: cheap Klingons chatting with low-cost X-men; sleazy Narutos laughing with transgender Harley Quinns; three feet tall, genuine-looking Optimus Primes hitting on slutty, scantily-clad whatever characters... Rajesh hated all of it. Maybe because he himself was only surrounded by acne-ridden, insecure teenagers.

Suddenly, a stampede. The sixth since he'd arrived. Like before, there were outraged screams, some laughter, probably some "accidental" butt grabbing and the calm restored itself. Rajesh was fed up and started to consider dropping the mission. But this time, something changed. A few feet away, a decent enough Gimli appeared above the crowd, probably standing on a platform or someone else's shoulders. His voiced boomed as soon as something close to silence fell on the square together with a few raindrops.

"Ladies, gentlemen and other unsavory characters, please hold and be patient a few moments more. The doors will open anon!"

Whispers ran through the mob. The human-sized dwarf sighed.

"The doors will open soon," he said, disappointment tainting his voice.

But when cheers exploded, it brought a smile amid his impressive, braided ginger beard. Considering the dedication of some to their characters, Rajesh was still not sure the remarkable ginger bush was fake.

He had chosen comfort over cosplay for himself. He was wearing blue jeans, sneakers, and a shirt that could have fit the event if the zombie on it hadn't been the Iron Maiden one. Suddenly, Rajesh felt out of place: he was older than most here, his hair was obviously too short and too salty and he couldn't remember if Naruto was a pirate or a ninja.

Before he could definitely ruin all chance of blending in by asking one of the moody teenagers around him, a joyful clamor erupted from the crowd. The doors had been opened!

Anon indeed, thought Rajesh.

People hurried inside the gigantic halls to queue some more behind desks and almost famous authors, actors, artists - whatevers. Ten minutes later, Rajesh was inside and standing in front of a colorful map made out of pink squares, white alleys and blue numbers. The brouhaha was already unbearable. The sooner he was out, the better.

There! Conference room 21B! Not too far away...

And quiet! Rajesh sat with a sigh of relief. He had chosen the last row on the right, close to the door. He was not the first in the room, but it had been a close call. Three other guys were already waiting for the conference to start.

Rajesh checked the brochure for the hundredth time. It was more like a small flyer with blurry pictures of a DeLaurean and an English Police booth, a vague recap of the topic, directions and, at the very top, a tacky title in ugly font: