This is one of my all time favourite Dragoncon stories.
Dragoncon 2003 was just me, Cath and Ash. We had a hell of a time that year. Monday rolled around, we packed up, had them pick up my costumes to ship them out, and checked out of our room – but, our f light didn’t leave for a few more hours, so we checked our baggage and just hung out for a while longer. Went to a couple of panels, ate lunch, where Cath insisted I take a picture of her fries because the ketchup looked like a smiley face (see: header image. I didn’t have much else to chose from for this one. Haha.)
I decided to wear Eowyn that day – I’d made it December the year before and had never worn it anywhere, and it was comfortable and could be thrown in my suitcase before we left. Although, since I didn’t want to check my computer, I ended up carrying around my laptop backpack around with me, which doesn’t really go…
So it was getting late and we figured we needed to head towards MARTA. We got our luggage and I grabbed some normal clothes, and headed into the public bathroom on the AL level to change. (Remember the AL level when it was just a bunch of couches and chairs? So nice to just hang out and people watch).
My Eowyn vest was not the best constructed thing I ever made. I made it using a pattern meant for stretchy material, but used a decidedly non-stretchy suede. Getting in and out of it involved dislocating my shoulders. I could do it – with help. Especially getting out of it – I had to have someone pulling it up while I wiggled to get it off. The girls knew this, since they had helped me get into it that morning.
The girls came in the restroom with me… and then disappeared. They left. They abandoned me in the stall, stuck in the half-off vest and meekly calling out, “Cath…? Ash…? Anybody…?” There wasn’t a sole in the bathroom. I was, as I said, already half way out of this thing, with my arms bent at funny angles. The vest was at that point not moving anywhere, up or down, so I was completely stuck.
I had to choose between continuing the struggle by myself, or awkwardly walking out into the public with my costume half off and arms sticking out weird. I opted to continue the struggle. It took I’m guessing about 15 minutes of shifting and wiggling and contorting to get myself out of that thing. I left the restroom and found the two of them chilling on a couch, no idea of the epic struggle that had just taken place.
Now I either don’t wear Monday costumes, or we leave on Tuesdays.