Confessions of a Booth Girl

You know something? I've been through quite a bit of nonsense working as a convention booth girl. There was the porn convention, where good christian girls would walk up, lay their hands on you, and speak in tongues in order to save me from the sins of fornication on film. Which, you know, was nice, except that  I don't have sex on film for money and I was working for a liquid clothing brand. And then there was the part where Ron Jeremy drunkenly stumbled up to me and signed my boob. No seriously.

Yeah, you're right. That IS the girliest "signature" ever. And, no, I didn't ask for it. He just sorta branded me with a sharpie as I walked past. To be fair, it was a porn convention. I wasn't expecting normal.

But I have worked other conventions that have turned out to be just as strange. At the Baltimore ComicCon I posed with many men for many pictures. Not surprising when you are dressed as a sexy female space cat. But when guys start telling you that they are sending your photo to their ex-wife and "can you just say something into the phone to prove you are a real girl" you have to wonder.

Now I am currently working at the Philadelphia Flower Show. Flowers. Garden stuff. A nice, wholesome section of the population. That are crazy. Every single one of them.

Do you know what pissed plant people off? When you hold up a plant and ask "how long does this last?" How long does it LAST? It is a LIVING THING. ALIVE. It lasts as long as you do! Oh wait, no, it won't, because you are going to take it home and kill it. That is... it's like asking the pet store owner how long the kitten you are buying is going to last. And how do you kindly say "it will last until you kill it."

But ok, that is just my pet peeve. At least this time I get to wear pants.