I didn’t go to NYCC.
I arrived at the Javits Center on Thursday – it was the day specifically for the press, pros and VIP ticket holders and with it being so early, there were very few people. I marched up to the counter where the young woman requested my I.D. Happily I slid it over to her, but almost immediately, my anxiety seeped in as she repeatedly searched the list for my name – and didn’t find it.
The woman next to her asked for my authorization code, which you print out to prove you’ve been accepted for a pass. She typed away at her computer only to tell me that the name my press pass was registered under wasn’t my own. There’s a problem. Deflated, I slinked away and frantically searched for a Starbucks – the only place I could get free wi-fi on my dying iPod (because I don’t own a smartphone) praying that my previously uncharged cell phone doesn’t die. Thankfully, there’s a random cafe not far from the convention center, and I hurriedly attempted to access Facebook (the mobile version is pure hell) as I cursed the seemingly evasive internet. Finally, I was able to shoot out an e-mail to my friend – who had extra passes – and my “boss” who had applied for the press pass on my behalf.
“Emergency! They won’t give me my press pass!”
Seconds later she called me, and I quickly explained that because of a registration mistake, she filed the pass under her name and not mine. She promised to call or text me if anything came up, and I decided to occupy my mind (ie: ignore my raging anxiety) by heading to my friend’s house, with whom I was staying. I discovered that there’s an intense back and forth going on; the manager in charge of the press passes had no absolutely no desire to help us. She couldn’t authorize me in any capacity and by Saturday I’ve discovered that she had stopped returning her e-mails altogether.
Depression kicked in. I’d waited a whole year for NYCC – as it’s the only con I could really afford to go to (but more importantly, that I wanted to go to), especially after the fantastic time I had last year. I swallowed tears as I wandered the streets of Brooklyn, tempted to head down to the convention center and wondering if my crying would convince someone to help me. Instead, I bought some junk food and tried to lighten my mood with copious amounts of Netflix and gushers.
And the whole time, I tried to check into my intuition – what do I do? And immediately I got back, let it go. And as I sat around lamenting my shitty fortune, I read a blog post that talked exactly about that – letting things go, getting rid of attachments.
Even though seeing all the swag from attendees as I waited to board the Greyhound back to unusually warm Philly brought tears to my eyes, not being able to go to NYCC didn’t kill me. It saddened me, depressed me even – but I’m still here and there are still LOADS of cons to go to around the country.
So even though I wish there was something I could’ve – or should’ve – done differently, I’m going to try and listen to my intuition (for once!) and just let it go. There will be more cons!