Bill and I have been going out to San Diego for at least 15 years. We started out small, just sharing a booth with a small publisher or the Animation Show, and over time we became regulars, occupying a corner booth in the 1500 row, which we came to call "Animation Alley". However, I think perhaps our time traveling out there has come to an end, primarily for financial reasons, but also because the event has grown too large, and has become a confusing, mismanaged mess. Allow me to explain.
The
first five years I went, I was full of positive energy – I was
going to win Comic-Con! We’d sell all of our merchandise, and have
a blast! I was going to see everything, do everything, go to every
party I could find, and greet all of Bill’s fans with a smile on my
face as they handed over their dollars for DVDs. At some point, I
realized how futile this strategy was – you can’t “win”
Comic-Con, nobody “wins” Comic-Con, nobody can see and do
everything, so I had set myself an impossible goal. The best you can
do is identify the movies and TV shows you like, and maybe attend a
panel for one or two of them.
Over
the following five years, I came to regard SD Comic-Con as some kind
of mythological beast that would rise up each year, one that could be
defeated by a combination of proper planning and hard work. The
Beast was strong and smart and had many rules that a slayer had to
follow, so I became strong and smart and I learned all of its rules,
and came up with some tricks of my own to defeat the Beast each year,
forcing it to sleep for the next 11 months. During this time I also
learned the best ways to get around town, the cheapest way to ship
boxes of merch to the closest UPS Store, and how to get a hotel room
at the converted YMCA 3 blocks away for about $50/night. The rules
for getting around were much the same as the ones for surviving in
New York – figure out when everyone else is going to go to the best
restaurants, for example, and just go during a non-peak time.
In
the last five years, I developed a more zen-like approach to
Comic-Con. After all, the best things that had happened to me there
were not planned, they were all more like happy accidents. So, why
try to force anything , why make a plan when I never knew when I was
going to have free time away from the booth? Since I couldn’t see
everything, why try hard to see anything? Why not just relax and
allow things to happen? (“Why can’t I cross this aisle? What’s
the hold-up? Ah, it’s Kevin Bacon, crossing two feet away from me.
That’s cool.”)
So
in the past few years I would arrive early, set up the Plymptoons
booth, sell stuff for a few hours and then wander around on my
breaks, just taking pictures of cool costumed people, allowing
Comic-Con to bring me good experiences. (Occasionally this required
some planning: “Hey, Weird Al’s playing in town? Great, I’ll
buy a ticket.”) Generally I found that if I tried to make a
schedule to see something like a Slave Leia group photo shoot, I’d
never get to it – but if I wandered around on the second floor
after lunch, I might bump into the Marvel Costuming photo group
tweet-up, and that would be pretty cool too. Without a plan, things
would quite often fall into place – as George Harrison once sang,
“If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you
there.”
But
even with all the fun times I’ve had in San Diego, with all the
little happy accidents that came my way over the years, I’ve been
forced to come to terms with the fact that I’m getting older –
which means the same amount of work (shipping, set-up, working the
booth, packing up, traveling home) gets a little harder each year.
This year I was not only wearing my compression stocking to help the
circulation in my legs during long periods of sitting, but I had a
knee brace for support, since my left knee was buckling the week
before.
And
my attitude seems to get a little worse each year as well –
everything frustrates me more and more, like when people walk too slowly in the aisles, or block our
booth while they stand there and read their program. Or (and this
happened several times) there will be someone in front of me in line,
and suddenly they can’t decide on the third of three items to buy.
Well, since I already KNOW what I want to buy, why not let me pay
first, while this guy decides?
The
first day of the convention, I had a problem (again) with these
surfer "brahs" across the aisle, who rented out half of the
Spike & Mike's booth. The rule at Comic-Con is that all booth
personnel have to remain inside their booth and not block the aisle.
This blond dude in flip-flops was not only out in the middle of the
aisle, handing out postcards, but he was also dragging potential
customers over from near our booth to come over and check out his
lame video-game (or graphic novel, or whatever it was). Well, I
wouldn't stand for this, I called him over and told him if I saw that
again, we were going to have a problem – I'd call the management
and get his booth shut down, I'd done it before. (I haven't, but he
didn't know that.) I'm also no good in a fight, but he didn't know
that either – I'm just a big guy who can get really loud if I want
to.
This
used to be a very friendly, polite town, with a laid-back attitude
that was stereotypical of Southern California – but in the last
couple of years, I’ve noticed more of the same attributes among San
Diegans that I see frequently in New Yorkers – that self-entitled
air that people have when they think that the rules don’t apply to
them.
I
was trying to get into the Convention Center one morning, and I admit
I was a little behind schedule, but I was waiting in line with the
regular attendees, and the line was slowly moving, so I figured I was
OK. Then this little pipsqueak jumps the line and breaks for the
door, trying to squeeze through, and when I motioned him back, he
said, “But I’m a volunteer, I’m just trying to get through.”
No way. So I said, in a forceful tone, “Well, I’m an Exhibitor,
and we’re ALL trying to get through, so why don’t you just wait
your turn.” Or at least get behind me.
What
I’m trying to point out is that there is now something inherently
selfish about going to Comic-Con, I get that. Since it’s part of
our consumer culture, it’s all about “I want” – I want to see
that panel, I want to buy that book or that DVD and have it
autographed. And that’s all fine. But when it comes to “I want
to dress like this character from “Yu-Gi-Oh” and it’s VERY
important that I carry this giant hammer or enormous sword that will
bump into everyone as I walk through the aisles, then we’ve got a
problem. There seems to be no limit now on what each person is
allowed to do, even if it bothers or inconveniences others, and
that’s where I think a line needs to be drawn.
If
I were running things, which I’m not, I wouldn’t allow giant
swords, or enormous costumes, because the needs of the crowd should outweigh the needs of the individual cosplayer. I wouldn’t allow
any kind of weapons either, real or fake, for security
reasons. It’s too easy for someone smart to disguise a real weapon
as a fake one, or a real explosive as a cartoon-like bundle of
dynamite, and I’m not willing to put myself at risk if the security
guards are more concerned with people swiping badges properly than
checking for guns. I wouldn’t even allow strollers or baby
carriages, because I’m guessing those aren’t properly checked –
who’s going to frisk a baby? Baby carriages are one of the worst
offenders when it comes to blocking the aisles – and if your kid’s
in a stroller, he or she is probably too young to appreciate
Comic-Con, so I’d suggest that no kids under 5 be allowed in.
On
top of all the self-entitled people around me, I was enormously
frustrated by all the new rules and set-ups this year at the
convention center. Someone in upper management must have read a new
book on how to run things, and that person should probably ask for
his or her money back. The new badge pick-up system was confusing
and inefficient (what’s a “badge box” and why do I need it?
I’m guessing I don’t.) but I will admit that it was quite fast. Before I could even get there, I was about to enter the
convention center through the door at Hall C (clearly marked for
exhibitors) when a staffer outside told me that all exhibitors had to
enter through Hall G. I walked all the way down to Hall G, and the folks at that entrance told me I should have entered at Hall C.
Gee, thanks. Before I get back there, please have that "helpful" woman
outside Hall C fired.
At
one point I found myself 20 feet from the Exhibitor Help Desk with an
emergency (more on that later) and I couldn’t get there, even
though it seemed to be a straight shot. “Sorry, sir, this is an
exit-only access point. You need to turn around, go out the door,
down the hall, down the stairs, do a lap around the convention
center, and come up the escalator to enter through this other door.”
Yeah, I’m not doing that, when I can clearly SEE where I need to
go, and it’s essentially right in front of me. It’s as if the
people who designed this maze deliberately will not allow people to
move in the most efficient way. Or they’re hiding behind the
scenes, laughing at the chaos on camera as the mice try to find the
cheese.
Another
time I was in Lobby C, trying to get to the Tides Café off of Lobby
A, only security wouldn’t let me go straight through Lobby B, which
I’ve always done in the past. I know that’s always been the area
for the disabled people to park their scooters, or where people sign
in at the booth for the hearing-impaired, but it’s never been
off-limits to foot traffic before. So again, I could see the café,
maybe 100 yards away in a straight shot, but to get there I had to
scan out, go outside, walk 100 yards, enter via Lobby A, scan my
badge AGAIN to get in – it was moronic. (But if I complain
about the placement of the services for the handicapped, suddenly I’M
the bad guy. I just think that maybe there was a better place
to put those services, without inconveniencing nearly everyone else.)
We
had a big problem with the screening of Bill's film "Cop Dog"
at the Comic-Con Film Festival, they screened a rough cut of the
film, with visible time code. That's the version we entered in the
festival back in February, and they never asked us for a final
version. OK, this is partially our fault because we never sent the
final cut, but a properly run film festival would have contacted us
before the screening and requested that we submit an updated version.
It just shows that the people running events at Comic-Con are not
taking the time to double-check things, and the quality of the events
is starting to suffer for it.
I
should have realized last year that their systems were starting to
break down. When I brought money to the convention office in July
2016, to put down a deposit on our 2017 booth, I carefully counted
out $1,300 and delivered it in three neat stacks ($500, $500 and
$300). The woman who took my deposit immediately combined all three
stacks into one big stack, and ran it through their money-counting
machine, which came up with a incorrect total of $1,200. I asked for
the money back, re-counted it and came up with $1,300. Back to the
machine, and again the machine counted it as $1,200. I had to count
out the money with the agent by hand to prove that my total was
correct and the machine's total was wrong. Sure, I was proven right in the end,
but why did the machine arrive at the wrong total, again and again?
Did they immediately shut down the machine and get it repaired? I'm
betting they did not.
I
want to mention the worst offense of all – we were given a time of
10:35 for the screening of “Revengeance” as part of the film
series. The programmer assured me the time was locked in, so we made
about 200 postcards with the time and location to hand out. A week
before the convention, I checked the time on the SDCC web-site, and
it was listed as 11:45. Big problem, since we already printed the
postcards reading 10:35. Now, it turned out this was just a typo and the film had
been moved only slightly to 10:45, and we were able to get the time
corrected on the web-site and the Comic-Con app relatively quickly.
However,
the events guide (the paper booklet that most attendees use to plan
their schedules) still listed the start time as 11:45 – which would
only be a problem if we wanted people to show up on time and not miss the
first hour of the film. I ran up to the office on the first day, and
they were able to issue a correction in Friday’s daily update
handout – only, how many people make time to look at the corrected
schedule, if they’ve already made their plans? We knew we were
facing an uphill battle, what with all of the parties, screenings and
events going on in the Gaslamp on a Friday night – but we still had
hope.
We
handed out all of the postcards to Bill’s fans at the booth, we
made sure everyone at Bill’s panel knew the correct time, plus we
tried really hard to promote the event on social media and get the
word out about the misprint – and we did have 50 or so people
attend the screening, but the room could have seated 200. Now, if
those were the RIGHT 50 Bill Plympton fans, then I'd be OK with it,
but there's no way to know that. What bothers me most is that we
never got an apology for the misprint from anyone in SDCC management
– the explanation I got from the programmer was, “Yeah, sometimes
they make mistakes.” That’s an admission of guilt, and very far
from an apology, it’s more of an excuse. Not good enough.
But
in a way, all of this makes the Comic-Con very “San Diego” – I
wrote at length last year about how San Diego is “The City That
Means Well”, where everything is designed with good intentions, but
nothing ever seems to work 100% right. Like the pedestrian bridge
that they built about two blocks east of where it could do any good,
or the fact that 125,000 people need to cross a busy highway and TWO
sets of train tracks to get to the Convention Center – what genius
thought THAT up? The S.D. trolley system is full of moronic design
features, like forcing people to cross the tracks after they get off
the train. Really? Was that the best way to design things? How
many people die each year after being hit by the trolleys? Can you
imagine the NYC subway system if you had to cross over the tracks to
exit every station?
All
across the town, there are dozens, if not hundreds of things that
don’t work right. I could do a whole 15-minute stand-up comedy
routine now about San Diego bathrooms, especially the ones at the
convention center. They completely re-designed a bunch of them in
the last year and guess what? They still don’t work right. I
don’t need to tell you that those “electric eye” sensors never
work right, not the ones on the faucets, not the ones on the paper
towel dispensers, and there are plenty of videos on YouTube of people
trying to rinse their hands, only to have the automatic soap
dispensers squirt more soap on them every time so they can NEVER BE
DONE washing their hands. The ones on the toilets are even worse,
they’ll flush when I first enter the stall, (or worse, as I’m
sitting down) because I broke the sensor beam. I guess that’s fine
if you like a “fresh bowl” of water – but then they won’t
flush when I want them to, or they’ll flush a THIRD time while I’m
adjusting my clothing or preparing to open the stall door – isn’t
that a tremendous waste of water?
Why
do I have to practically do a hula dance in front of the paper-towel
dispenser, to make it eject a too-small paper towel? Say what you
want about the old ones, where you had to pull the towel out with
your hands, but they WORKED. I've also got a gripe with whoever
installed the toilet paper dispensers, because they're all about a
foot too low, and they occupy the exact same place where my left knee
needs to be. They know we grab the toilet paper with our hands, and
not with our feet, right? I needed a bathroom gnome to pull some
paper off the roll for me, only those don't exist. And those
hygienic hot-air dryers are great, except for the ones that they
installed too close to the bathroom stalls, so as I'm sitting there
and someone else is drying their hands, I'd get a blast of
hot air sent right into the stall, directly on to my bare skin as I'm
trying to do what I'm there to do – it was very distracting.
This all served to put me in the mindset where I started to notice incompetence all around me. Why
does the Tides café in the convention center open at 10 am, but it
doesn’t serve any breakfast? How come they can make a steak and
French-fry burrito for lunch, but they can’t make one with eggs and
home fries for breakfast? How come they only sell soda and water,
but not coffee and juice? Do they even know what people want to eat at 10
am? (Hint: It’s eggs, bacon, home fries, coffee and juice.)
One
of my favorite restaurants, the Kansas City BBQ, ran out of brisket,
chicken, potato salad on Friday night. Did they not know that more
people would be eating there during Comic-Con? Maybe stock up on a
few extra ribs when you know that 125,000 people are coming to town,
right? Who’s in charge here? Is anyone in charge here? I’m
guessing not. And if I can see what’s wrong with the system, why
can’t the people who run it? Maybe I’m just a grumpy,
unsatisfied old man.
So,
after 15-plus years, I think it's time for us to stop going, and this
was not an easy decision to make. I told Bill 2 or 3 years ago that
the event was no longer profitable for us, once you factor in the
cost of airfares, hotel, merchandise costs and shipping. Our income
there barely covers the cost of the booth, which itself rises a bit each
year. Sure, there is the benefit of the promotion we get just for
being there, which is an intangible, perhaps even a priceless, thing
to put in the debit column. But at what point, exactly, do the
frustrations and inconveniences begin to outweight that intangible
upside?
I
feel like if I continue, I'm going to explode in frustration – and that's not
healthy. I'm just not willing to reward the incompetence I witnessed
from Comic-Con's management with our future business, that wouldn't
help me make my point. But we've still got New York Comic-Con, which
didn't even exist when we started going out to San Diego. The booths
there are cheaper, our travel and shipping costs are nearly zero, and
we usually make a profit there, and isn't that kind of the point?
Enjoy the photos, from what may be our last appearance in San Diego:
