I don't go to a lot of conventions but I seem to get someone mad at me every time I do. After the con, I get an angry e-mail from someone who says they brought a whole pile of comics for me to autograph and carried them around and couldn't find me. Once, the incensed message was from someone who'd hauled such a stack to a convention I never agreed to attend and which had not advertised my presence. I still don't understand that one.
I just got one of these messages from someone who couldn't find me at Comic-Con in San Diego and, again, I don't understand: They give you a Program Guide listing all the panels and what time they are and what room they're in…so the guy had fourteen notices of where I was. Even Groo could figure that one out. And because of my mobility problems, a Galapagos Tortoise could have caught up with me.
Instead, this fellow somehow spent his time at the con wandering around the exhibit hall I never entered, looking for a table I never sat behind. Every so often, you hear about someone who claims that reading comic books make you stupid and maybe, once in a rare while, they're right.