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As I try to get my ducks in a row for SDCC (and there are SO MANY DUCKS, they don't want to line up, and I think one of them just stole an airplane), I fondly remember the best bit of harmless opportunism I ever experienced there.
See, they don't have holding rooms for panelists. We tend to congregate near the doors as the previous panel is ending, and talk amongst ourselves. Then, when the doors open, we show our badges and go in.
For bigger panels, this can mean some poor volunteer getting confronted with ten authors, our moderator, our publicists, and our significant others. At a certain point, they just stop asking and let us in.
About...gosh, six or seven years ago, the zombie panel was in one of the larger mid-size panel rooms. I got there early. A nice lady in steampunk gear started chatting with me and Amy.
The line for the next panel was IMMENSE. Like, terrifyingly so. I asked if she knew what it was for. "Oh, TEEN WOLF," she said breezily. "That's why I'm here." That line was NOT getting into the room.
The rest of the panel shows up. We all keep chatting. Turn time arrives. We all go in...including steampunk lady, who produces a Teen Wolf shirt from her bag and pulls it on as she finds a seat.
None of us cared. One clever hitchhiker who was fun to talk to and charming enough to integrate with our group was technically cutting in line, but was still a nice encounter at a frequently surly, aggressive, unfriendly con.
(If you were the first person turned away from that year's TEEN WOLF panel, I'm sorry!)
