Though Friday’s Op Drop had surpassed even my wildest expectations, I still had a lot of work ahead of me: I was only roughly a third of the way to my goal of dropping 100 Alizée music samplers and ‘Fan Starter Kits’ before the weekend was out. It was a daunting task, but given how smoothly Friday had gone—with every one of the over thirty disques I’d dropped apparently having been picked up, some just minutes after I’d dropped them—I figured Saturday would be a cakewalk, given that it was traditionally the busiest day of the three.
What I didn’t realize is that this would be both a blessing, and a curse. While it meant more people to whom I could potentially introduce Alizée, it also meant more people, period. A lot more people…people who would get in my way, congregate around (then refuse to walk away from) prime drop locations, “helpfully” hand back to me the disque I’d “accidentally” left behind, catch me in the act and force me into an awkward conversation explaining exactly what I was doing, and generally make it harder to disque drop in the smoothly clandestine manner to which I’d become accustomed.
The sheer crush of humanity—a larger portion of whom were now dressed in bulky and outlandish costumes in preparation for that night’s masquerade—caused traffic patterns to shift wildly, rendering some of Friday’s best drop locations useless and inaccessible. It also brought increased vigilance both from security and from the retailers in the dealer room—more than once, I’d drop a disque on what I’d thought was an unattended table or display, only to have it a volunteer I hadn’t seen hand it right back to me. (Or, in the case of one memorable exchange, actually throw it at my head.) As the day wore, and the building continued to fill up, it became harder and harder to even find an inch of empty space on which make a drop…and then, once found, to manage it without being completely frackking obvious.
Father Christmas vs. The Daylight Detective
(I should probably explain that—I mean, who cares if a half-dozen of my fellow comic geeks notice me dropping it, right? One of them might even be motivated to pick it up out of curiousity. The only explanation I can give is that it violates my personal “rules” of disque dropping as I’ve come to think of it. Discovering one in a random public place is meant to be kind of magical and mysterious…like coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and finding presents in the empty stocking you put up the night before. Getting caught in the act of a drop…I always feel like it robs it of its mystique, somehow…like Batman fighting crime in broad daylight, or something. There’s also the fact that I’m painfully shy around strangers—particularly cosplaying cuties in extremely abbreviated outfits—which makes having to explain a bungled drop somewhat akin to slow torture, but that’s neither here nor there.)
In short, as far as drops went, the day proceeded slowly. Despite my being there nearly twice as long, by the time the doors were set to close on Saturday, I’d barely managed to match the all-time record high I’d set on Friday. And for the first time in my career, I was actually forced to make a few humiliating recoveries, as disques I’d dropped first thing in the morning at what had been prime drop locations the night before had remained there the entire day without so much as being touched. At the end of the day, I actually did better in just five hours on Friday than I had in nine hours on Saturday.
Still, thirty-plus drops in a day was nothing to sneeze at, and I was still on pace to meet my goal of dropping a hundred. All it would take was a little over 20 drops on Sunday, and I’d be golden. Surely I’d be able to drop twenty lousy disques in seven hours, especially given that the hall wouldn’t be nearly as packed as it had been on Saturday, right?
Right?
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