The issue of what to wear this morning involved more than just swapping out yesterday’s outfit. I was going to an event, so I wanted to present a low-key vibe. A horror convention came to town for the second of their yearly visits, and a friend and I, both fans in our golden years, would be mingling with people of all ages, with a lean toward the younger folks. She decided on a tank that I had gifted for her birthday, depicting one of the latest gross horror movie icons. I could have worn a shirt from a prior convention, or selected a movie themed tee, but instead I opted for a generic souvenir tee.
Off we went to the local hotel venue, credit cards at the ready. We were QR code scanned, given security wristbands and sent off to await the opening of the vendors’ areas some ninety minutes later (arriving early ensured a safer parking spot and avoided needing to shuttle from a nearby overflow designated school parking lot). While we waited, we chatted about some of our misguided plans from past conventions. My friend delayed in replying to me about a past spring edition which she would have enjoyed attending, and the tickets sold out rapidly. These conventions promise a fine list of celebrity guests who either sign autographs, pose for professional photos with (extra) paying fans, or both. We have witnessed the queues for these fan events snake out the hotel lobby, past the pool and nearly to the street. Excited attendees have brought full-size mounted posters, artistically recreated busts of characters and other items for signing. The lines for the vendors’ rooms are also lengthy, but once the time arrives, they move rapidly and offer merciful relief from times like now, in August, when waiting in oppressive heat is unbearable.
We stopped at a favorite tee shirt vendor first to grab the newest collectibles, then on to the various pins, action figures, videos, household items and decorations, all with a frightening theme to match. If you wanted a Nightmare on Ordinary Avenue, this is where you would make it happen. I approached at least two authors selling their books. As we began to tire, my friend’s shirt themed character appeared, and she got a few selfies. Proof that one doesn’t need celebrities to have fun at a horror convention.
As I moved from vendor table to displays and racks of merchandise, something unusual happened. People were paying attention to my tee shirt, which was an impulse item I had bought at an Amish retail mecca in Pennsylvania. “Oh, I miss being in Lancaster,” one gothic-clad woman remarked. “Oh honey, we need to visit this place,” a vendor husband said to his wife after calling up the location on his cell. A third struggled to communicate her excitement through prosthetic vampire fangs. My friend was gobsmacked.
Once a year I have made it a point to visit the location of the shirt’s origins, a place known as Shady Maple in the quaint East Earl area of PA. There is a humungous smorgasbord, touted as the largest in America, as well as a farm market and gift shop with a variety of local items as well as collectibles. I go for the collectibles, and have blown through my funds there every time, preventing me stopping in for the food. I promised my friend that we would go together and eat whatever we want. They offer everything from comfort food to vegan menu items; certainly we could indulge in a treat or three for one day.
In all I received four comments from total strangers about my shirt. So much for being low-key.
My credit card is a bit heavy from the haul, but I made wise choices and will use what I bought. Our next visit may be in the spring, if we plan ahead better. But first, let’s look at that luncheon menu.
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