Sunday at most cons is an exercise in futility. The main events are over and the circus is leaving town. But you have to be there. We had two good prospects for sales when two bouncy chicks tried on corsets and promissed to return Sunday. They didnt. I began to do some rough calculations in my head. Airfare, hotel and food...slowish sales...hmmm. I was starting to feel like a man on death row. Things are looking grim and I'm eating my last meal when suddenly there's a call from the governor. The dealers room closes at 2 and at 1:39 three women step up and make last minute purchases. I breath a sigh of relief. Looks like we'll not just break even but pull ahead. Tear down goes smoothly but we have to guess the weight of our bags and hope we don't get nailed at the airport.
We eat a great meal on a virtually empty patio by the small courtyard garden. The dead dog party is just that. A sad room with the last dregs of the con participants. We turn in early.
6am comes with a loud wakeup call. We catch a cab to the airport and are checking in (curbside strip search and standard luggage manhandling) when I get a call from the airline. Our plane is broken. We will now get to spend 5 hours at the airport. Joy.
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