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When the panel was done, the Yvonne ticket draw queue had been officially open for 15 minutes, so we went there completely relaxed only to find out… that it’s over. The tickets have been drawn, people are already standing in line to the signing itself, and we, like little dicks peeking out of half-unzipped pants, can only look around desperately, saying: aaa, don’t look at me, I’m so embarrassed!
But we decided to live on our wits. You can’t slip into the queue, because one, there are rules, and two, karma is a bitch, and three, someone will inevitably ask you “Hey, you didn’t stand here before, did you?”. So we started asking if everyone was really set on seeing Yvonne. Then again, they were here for a reason, right? We’re standing there, watching Kevin do his magic, talking to every single person – and you should know, that when it comes to magic, Kevin with his walking stick, his smile, charm and loveable character, would overpower even Gandalf within 30 seconds – and suddenly it turns out that yeah, someone could give away their ticket… for a 100 bucks.
If Yvonne Strahovski is reading this, I’d like to note, that I would’ve gladly paid the money, just to see her wonderful smile up close, and listen, live, to her fluent, flawless Polish. But the guys told me to get a grip and smack my own forehead.
So I think to myself that it’s over and I’m about to wave my hand at the whole thing – if it can’t be done, then it can’t be done – and go my way, when suddenly Kevin, who disappeared a moment ago, comes back, holding… a signing ticket for Yvonne. He hands it to me, saying that I spoke so sweetly and highly of her, I’ve deserved it.
So I get in line, thinking: a few more minutes, a moment really and I’ll see her, but a staff lady quickly brought me back down to earth, ordering me to turn around and see, where the actual end of the line is. And it was extremely far away.
For you should know, my darlings, that at Comic-con the queues are divided into legs, in between which normal pedestrian traffic occurs, every so often halted by staff members or con tape. Once you reach the front of one leg, you’re asked to move to the end of the next leg, where you wait. This works well, mostly because the people in line keep each other in check, and mind that no one from outside the queue slips in, while moving from one leg to the other. And if that happens, they politely inform the staff about it, who then successfully intervene. And yeah, I can see your smug little faces: pfft, I could do it, I’m so tough. I assure all of you mega-tough people, telling each and every one of you: no, you couldn’t do it. You’d only get thrown out of the convention. And that’s something you’d rather avoid, right?
But back to the story, cause it’s important. As it turned out, our queue had a glitch in the system. We were upstairs, in the expo hall, where the endings of all queues met. Yvonne was signing stuff downstairs, in the trade hall, at Showtime’s station. The staff were therefore waiting for a signal from the people downstairs, and then they sent people down, without any supervision, to queue up there. I mean come on, we couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass us by, so we left the queue, and simply walked downstairs, to join the queue there. I mean, if no one’s watching us…
It worked. I walked downstairs, and asked if this is the line for Yvonne, and they go “yeah, but unfortunately you need a tick…”, but I didn’t even let them finish. I just pulled out my ticket and waved it proudly, as if I had forged it myself for three days in some sort of paper smithy. And I got in.
I’ll skip the standing in line bit, but once I finally got to Yvonne and we started talking, everything suddenly became neat and fun. Cause you see, the guy before me, after Yvonne had signed what she was supposed to sign, wanted to take a picture with her, but it turns out his camera was filming instead. So he’s holding the camera up, the actress is smiling into the lens, time passes, the shutter doesn’t click and things start to get awkward. Finally Yvonne throws me the cutest, still smiling WTF face, so I shrug and pat the guy on the shoulder, saying “okay, that’s enough”. He looks back at me, angrily, but I’m taller and my face clearly says: Dude, I’m a guy raised on B-class movies. That means I’m inclined to break every bone in your body, just to impress this pretty girl over there. Yeah, as if you haven’t noticed, my faces are highly talkative.
The guy backed down, and Yvonne grabbed a photo from the pile for me and said that that was weird. I said that yeah, it was, and she smiled again, very beautifully, and asked about my name. So I told her, and she starts writing it with a “C”, so I corrected her, telling it’s actually a Polish spelling.
She raised her head and asks, in Polish, if I’m really from Poland and do I speak the language, to which I reply, that yeah, I do. To which she says, that, as I can see, so does she, and I tell her that her Polish is lovely and I also ask for a signature for Elvis, who’s standing behind the barriers. I tell her she should visit the old country, her parents motherland, and if she does, we’d find her and keep her entertained. She laughed and replied that she’s been considering such a trip.
And then mister: “I’ll grunt to show what an important bodyguard I am” came over and that was that. But lets be clear about one thing… For now.
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