So … you’re going to Comic-Con …
Wait! Wait! You are … ?!? You were one of the lucky ones that went through all the new-fangled rigamarole and came out with tickets firmly in your grasp … ?!? Terrific! Good for you! Because, as you well know, this year is going to be just as slammin’ and bangin’ as years past! You know what you’re in for … and if you don’t, here’s a little taste of what’s going on television-wise at The Con.
Over the last few years, I’ve contributed a tale or two (I have a bag so full of’em I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface yet) along with some pointers about attending The Con. Mind another? This one was an encounter with none other than the ominous Dark Lord Of The Sith, Darth Vader … or a realistic facsimile thereof …
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A buddy of mine and I were headed for the upper levels of the San Diego Convention Center one afternoon during Comic-Con and decided to take the elevator rather than the escalators filled with every kind of freak and weirdo imaginable.
As the elevator *dinged* and the doors parted, a hulking, ominous figure gave us reason to pause before entering.
It was none other than the Dark Lord Of The Sith Darth Vader himself. (Well … someone dressed as Darth Vader at any rate. If it really was Darth Vader, he wouldn’t’ve put up with the shenanigans and monkey business we foisted on him. You see: My buddy and I … when we see an opportunity, we pounce on it.)
Darth was certainly foreboding. Dressed completely in black (well … DUH), he was all of seven feet tall, oozed darkness and inspired nothing less than tail tucked ‘tween leggedness. He was breathing just as in the films, too, with that sucking/hissing sound. I must admit: that labored breath was effective. We both walked in. I raised my hand in greeting.
“Annie! What’s happenin’ dude … ?!?” I asked gleefully. As we turned around to face the door, my buddy jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow and said under his breath (but loud enough for “Darth” to hear): “Are you an idiot?!? Call him Lord Vader, dipstick!”
I was doubled over in pain by my friend’s jab, but I managed to turn with a wince and apologize. “Sorry about that, An …. I mean, Lord Vader. No harm, no foul … right?” Vader breathed at me and didn’t say a word.
I turned, looked at my friend and shrugged. The elevator doors closed and we began rising. Three seconds into the ride, the elevator came to a stop. A mere five feet off the ground.
“What the … ???” I mumbled. I turned to Darth: “I said I was sorry! Come on! Get this thing moving, Bub. I have a panel to attend.”
Darth stood there looking down at me and sucked air.
I looked at my friend. “Guess it’s not him that stopped the elevator after all, eh? I mean, if it was he could get it goin’ again. Either that or we’d be dead already from insulting ‘His Lordship’.”
My friend turned around and faced Darth. “Hey, Mr. Vader? Can you do us a Sithy kinda trick? Make a coin disappear or detach your thumb or sumpin’ … ???”
Darth hissed in and out, but said not a word.
“Kinda stuffy in here, ain’t it?” I muttered in my friend’s ear, but within earshot of Darth.”
My friend looked out the glass windows of the elevator to see if anyone noticed it was stuck and exclaimed: “I have a great idea! When we get out of here, how ’bout we head for a burrito? You wanna burrito? Darth: You in? A burrito’d go down good right about now. We could head over to that busy Mexican joint at the Gaslamp … you know the one with the waiting list? With Lord Vader in tow, I betcha we’d get a seat in no time! I’ll even buy!”
I was on board. “Zounds! Great thought!” I turned back to Darth. “Whaddya say, Your Worship? You down with Mexican? That and a limed up Tecate trips my trigger!”
I thought I heard Darth sigh as he sucked wind.
“Doesn’t like Mexican, I guess,” I whispered to my friend.
“You can’t blame him,” he replied. “It must be hell trying to get outta them clothes when the burrito kicks in, if you know what I mean.” I nodded in understanding. We let the lunch date drop.
“Hey, Darth,” I queried, “Can’t you do anything about this stuck elevator? Mind meld with it or laser blast it or sumpin’?”
I received yet another elbow in the rib cage for that one. “Goofus! Mind melding is a Star Trek thing, not Star Wars … !!! When are you going to get your stuff straight? Way to piss Darth off. I’m sure his Lordship doesn’t appreciate that, y’know …”
“Sorry, Darth,” I mumbled. “But seriously — can’t you do anything about the elevator?” More heavy breathing.
Suddenly, someone saw us and realized we were stuck. And stuck with Darth inside, no less. People started pointing. I took the cue and began choking myself as if Darth were using The Force to strangle me. My friend started screaming at the people for help, pointing at me and pointing at Vader. We were drawing a crowd.
Suddenly, the elevator jolted and we began descending.
Seconds later when we reached the bottom again, we continued our act as the doors opened. We tumbled out the door, I collapsed in a heap on the ground, my friend bending over me to comfort my “attack” from Vader.
“Don’t go in there!” he yelled. “Vader’s trying to kill us! Someone get help! Security! Usher!”
Dark Lord Darth Vader walked out of the elevator and stepped over us with all the swagger of the villain he was …
… and was immediately accosted by a bunch of fanboys awaiting His Lordship for photographic opportunity.
Clacked by Michael Noble 
on Jun 26, 2012 @ 15:27 EST5EDT
