Or: "WHY I LOVE TOY FESTIVALS" by Alice I love Toy Festivals. I love them so much that every time I go to one I swear it will be the last. I've sworn that oath maybe three times now. I left early for Superfestival 39. And I mean real early, like I left my house about 6am. But it wasn't early enough. By the time I got to the venue, a Science Museum in the same park as the Budokan in Tokyo, there were upwards of 200 people in line in front of me. A mixture of dealers, otaku and the homeless mainly. Yes, the homeless. Dealers employ them to wait in line in their stead. Even to go into the events and snap up extra figures in some cases. I settle down for the long wait till opening time. Around me the air is abuzz with heated discussion about the exact date of the first airing of the first episode of Ultraman Leo and, um, so on. After a couple of hours the Festival staff helpfully split the line into two halves: those who are waiting for "gentei" (festival limited) goods, and those who aren't. I stay where I am as all semblance of order evaporates and a veritable stampede of otaku and dealers ensues. The 'otaku', a kind of Japanese retard, is easy to spot. They all wear the same uniform of check shirt, T-shirt and jeans, always carry a rucksack decorated with badges of their favorite girl idols, and usually have really thick glasses. This makes the dealers easy to spot too. They look kind of normal. My line edges inexorably forward and we are allowed to gaze briefly and reverently upon the now empty gentei goods table, before being redirected to another line. This is when my headache starts. For I realise that many of the otaku and dealers who were previously behind me in line are now in front of me. I happen to know the very first person in the new line. I also happen to know he is a dealer. "What time did you get here?" I ask him. "3pm yesterday", he replies, gleefully assuring me that by the time I get in all the Real Head, Gargamel, Blobpus etc. will be gone. I laugh, punch him playfully on the nose and, pausing only to ensure that the ground has broken his fall, walk slowly to the back of the line. Finally we are in. I have a kind of tunnel vision by now. My mouth is dry, everything looks hazy and there is a peculiar ringing sound in my ears. Somehow I find myself standing in front of the Real Head table, but I am no longer capable of speech. Raising my arm I make the "OK?" sign with my fingers. But I already know the answer. Mori-san crosses his forearms in an "X" shape. "Sorry!", he says with a pained expression. I want to cry. It's the same story at the Gargamel table: "Sold out in two minutes", they tell me. The Science Museum is like a maze. Once you are in it's very hard to find your way out again. Most of the rest of the goods you could find any given day in Mandarake, and cheaper too. I stagger around, desperately looking for one thing...a coffee machine. At one point I find myself confronted by a whole table full of Bemons. The overwhelming choice (30 different colorways for God's sake!) is too much for me and my head explodes. A grand day out! I had so much fun that I'm going to do it again tomorrow. That's right. The WHF isn't until Friday, but I'm going tomorrow - 24hrs early! See you there? (The above is BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS. In reality, a big THANK YOU and a tip of the hat goes out to a certain person without who's help my day would have been totally wasted, and this would have been a TRUE STORY).
Yow!!! That sounds crazy! I somehow thought that things would be a bit more civilized over in Japan, but it almost sounds worse than what I've come expect over here...
Alice - LOVE your story! Give this man his own column now! So, did u only end up with a pink turd or what?
