CHAPTER I: HELLO! MY NAME IS:
A convention center would be lonely looking without conventions. There is too much space, like a sardine can that has no sardines in it, it's just sad. A convention center needs the booths, it needs the people. It gives it shape, it give it breath. A big empty warehouse can be transformed into a teaming mass of flesh that seems impenetrable.
Unless you actually look around.
Thousands of people walk by the steps. Some carrying plates of food, bags of swag and brochures. Most have coffee, or smell like they've had coffee. All of them wear the little blue and white tags that are the bane of every suit designers life: Hello! My name is:
A thousand names flash by. Hello! My name is: John. Hello! My name is: Peggy. My name is Joshua, Dave, Wazir, Julia K., Katrina, Corina, Michael, Matthew, Bob and Robert. Mary wrote her name in cursive, Jeff wrote in block letters. Francesca couldn't find a sharpie so she used a ballpoint. Travis Kovacevich tried to fit his whole name including the Jr. on the tag but had to write the r. on the side so it looks like his last name is smiling. It's rare to find a Kovacevich smiling...
The smell of more coffee. Burnt beans double packed into large urns. Lots of sugar and lots of cream hides the fact that it tastes like cardboard from the dumpsters outside. The good cookies are gone, all that's left are the oatmeal raisin and the bran muffins. People are beginning to break out their blackberries for their third morning check. The managers and CEO's forward all thirty messages on to their minions with little FYI notes. The minions are the ones who are headed for carpal tunnel by trying to posture themselves to their bosses with quick responses typed only by thumbs. I knew about this last week. The market is actually going up and I just spoke with....blah blah blah. Their bosses don't read it anyway and the assistants who are copied only skim to see if a meeting needs to be set up. Otherwise it's just a waste of electrons.
More names float by. Jennifer who adds in parentheses to call her "Jen". There is Indigo...guess how she was conceived. More John's, lots and lots of Johns. Amber, Rob, Robbie, Robert, Joe, Heather, Jules, Mackenzie - but her friends call her Mac, Patrick, Roslyn, Teresa, Lewis, Batman, Roy, Laura...Batman?
"You must be tired this morning."
Batman looks up at me standing on the stairs, he actually does look tired and, like everyone else, he smells of coffee. He's also got that wired vibe, the kind people have when they are awake only because of the four bottles of Jolt they downed last night. Sure they look like corpses but they feel like corpses in the electric chair.
"I'm sorry?" he asks. There's an edge there, like he's kicking himself inside for acknowledging my presence.
"Up all night and then here bright and early."
"What?" Now he's doing the back-off-slowly shuffle, like he was talking to a psycho.
"You know, up all night...fighting crime..." I look pointedly at his name tag...and he thinks I'm the psycho.
He looks pointedly at his name tag too. A light goes off in his head...it makes him look more jittery. In his mind he must be swearing.
"Oh. Right."
"So...do you wear vinyl or polyester or what? I've always wondered." I say casually...honestly "Oh right"? Theres a good conversation filler.
"I'm sorry...it was just a thing."
"Yeah I know all about it. You're parents were murdered so you taught yourself how to fight and then you swore to protect Gotham City..." The poor boy is squirming where he stands. Maybe I should cut him a break. "But really - Batman?"
"I was hoping people would think I was crazy and be too afraid to talk to me."
"Did it work?"
"Till you."
"No I thought you were crazy too."
"You just weren't afraid."
"Why should I be? Batman is a good guy." Then I stood up and put my suit jacket back on. The tag on the front says Hello! My name is:
Catwoman
"If you'll excuse me...I need a cup of coffee." I descend from my people-watching perch and brush past the caped crusader. The convention center seems smaller now, less expansive and packed. It breathes in and sweeps me off into the crowd, exhaling stale cookies and burnt coffee. Batman turns to watch me walk by and ends up bumping into Hello! My name is: Carol. By the time they've disentangled the convention center is big again and I'm just part of the mass of people who are too afraid to talk to Batman.
4 comments:
Very well done. I've attended far too many conventions, and you've described them brilliantly.
Unfortunately, I never met any caped crusaders. But then again, I'd be afraid to talk to them, too.
Well sure...a guy walking around claiming he's Batman is freaky. But come-on...you know you want to talk to Catwoman, everyone wants to talk to Catwoman.
Talk? That's all I get? :)
No, if you're nice I'm sure she'll let you wear her ears.
Post a Comment