Woodley Park, by virtue of having two gigantic, expensive hotels, plays host to a lot of conventions. I, by virtue of working in a liquor store, provide the guests with that wonderful little molecule that fuels the events. Usually they’re fairly unentertaining – academics, transportation execs, solid waste management. But the past few weeks have been interesting.

The United Auto Workers, as you might expect, were mostly confused Midwesterners who were upset that we don’t carry things with names like “Pottymouth Jake’s Spiced Rum.” They blew through our stock of canned beer like Dale Earnhart Jr. in a souped up Camaro.

For what it’s worth, though, the vast majority of them seemed to be affable and at least as polite as society dictates. The goose-stepping legions of young Republicans who showed up next week were a different animal, and I swear to god if anyone asks me who I’m voting for again between now and November I’m going to deck them.

“Yeah you know, I like to hang out and talk to people. The every day people, the little ones, you know? Gotta know the people holding up the ladder.”

Hey buddy, fuck you.

This weekend though, man. This weekend was Katsucon, and anime conventions never disappoint. Done up right on hard cider and Jaegermeister, the miscreants spent the whole weekend running through the neighborhood and terrifying the uptight locals. Quoth the CVS manager, “They’re horrible! They’ve broken everything in the store and stolen all our Cheetos!”

I loved it. So much so that I decided we needed to – nay, were being called to – crash the convention on Saturday night. Hip flasks full of bourbon and hearts full of fear, we strolled into the lobby like Cortés into Tenochtitlan.

(full disclosure: I went to an anime convention when I was about thirteen)

I admit – there was a good bit of gawking, pointing and mocking on our part. Even so, it seemed that as much as the straights might like to make fun of what was happening, everyone at that convention was having more fun than I can ever remember. Sneaking into the rave at the end of the night and watching hundreds of drunken, horny cosplayers grinding on each other, I started to wish I had a part in all of it.

I woke up this morning, and in between rubbing my temples and cursing God I realized that I definitely didn’t wish that. It was nice to think about for a while, though.