For the first time in eight years, I won’t be working at Comic-Con. I’ll be there, though, experiencing the convention on the other side of the table. (And not appearing in the background of pictures people take of other people at the booth.) The hotel and flights are booked, and Brian and I are figuring out how to travel with a six-month old. (Luckily, the flight is only an hour and a half long.)

Looking toward Comic-Con, I have been reminiscing about some moments at conventions that were a little embarrassing. I try so hard not to be an awkward and socially stunted nerd, but sometimes I just do stuff that makes me feel stupid. Here are some, in roughly chronological order. They illustrate common pitfalls of attending comics conventions.

• I confused the then-current artist on The Tick with its creator, Ben Edlund. He said to me, “You don’t even know who I am, do you?” I think he also resented that I didn’t ask him to sign my midriff and give him my phone number, as the girl ahead of me in line did. (I know this dude’s name, but I’m not going to mention it.)
  The Pitfall: Revealing that you don’t know Your Stuff. Or actually, revealing to an artist that you don’t know His Stuff. He could be the kind of artist that think His Stuff’s the Hottest Stuff Around, and he might be kind of jerky if you ask him something he thinks you should know. Just get your sketch or autograph, say hello, whatever, and get answers to your questions on the Internet.

• I asked Dave McKean for a sketch after I’d been standing in a line that had “NO SKETCHES” signs near it for fifteen minutes. He did a sketch for me anyway, of Death from Sandman.
  The Pitfall: Not being on the lookout for signing rules. Especially with the bigger names, there will probably be some.

• I tried to introduce myself to someone I don’t know. This artist knew someone at the book and had stopped by . I wandered over. The other person didn’t say anything in ways of introduction, so in a break in the conversation, I started to extend my hand to introduce myself. Unfortunately, the artist was using the break in the conversation to say goodbye. So he said to me, “I don’t know you, but I’ll shake your hand anyway.” I felt stupid. And also unimportant. Wah.
  The Pitfall: Conforming to our culture’s expectations of interpersonal decorum. It doesn’t always work. Comics conventions are kind of full of people who aren’t great at doing this, so when they meet it, they might not recognize it. But don’t stop doing it — because the people who try to mind their manners as well will appreciate it.

• I was rendered speechless. I was talking to someone about a book I had encountered, saying it seemed like it was trying to ride on Lemony Snicket’s coattails while simultaneously copying Jhonen Vasquez. A dapper, roundish man approached us and asked what we were talking about. I showed him the flier for the book. “Well,” the man said, “I’m Lemony Snicket, and I think it’s a wild outrage!” I looked at his badge. It read “Daniel Handler.” I stared at him and said nothing until he slinked off, at which point I sputtered: “You are Lemony Snicket!”
  The Pitfall: Not being prepared to meet someone whose work I admire. Conventions are stuffed full of them. Be prepared to be as scintillating as you are in your daydreams — you know, the ones where people gather around you as you show off your wit and they laugh and say, “Oh, my that is humorous! Very clever! Bravo!” Or at least the ones where you have a pleasant, though not deeply meaningful, exchange with someone whom you admire. (See also, “This part of San Jose always smells like onion rings.”)

• I heard the words, “It’s nice to meet you,” coming out of my mouth as I was speaking to someone I had already met. I saw her expression change as she thought, “This snob can’t even remember that we’ve met before!” I was abashed.
  The Pitfall: This has probably happened to everyone at a convention — you meet so many people and then you forget whom you’ve met, or you don’t connect a name to a face, and then, ugh, you make an ass of yourself. What you need is one of those personal assistants who memorizes faces and names and whispers the information to you as people approach you. Failing that, you need to have a good “con apology”: “I’m sorry, I realize now we’ve met before! You know how these things are! Sensory overload and what not… Anyway, how are you? How’s [insert something that proves you remember who they are]?”

Have fun at Comic-Con kids. Don’t embarrass yourselves.