[Exhibitman]

You and I think alike when it comes to the Invasion of the Stroller People. From my column about dealing at the 2nd day of the Pasadena show last month:

On Day 1 by the 10:00 VIP opening, the line for the show was out the door of the convention center and a full block down Green Street to Marengo and just around the corner. Sunday, it was just barely out the door of the building. The crowd mix was all wrong, too: the Stroller People arrived. There were dozens of them.

Stroller People are death. I sold six bucks worth of cards the first hour and a half during Stroller Time. My table is a picker’s space. Buyers need time to go through the boxes. Stroller People measure their time in short bursts between toddler needs and demands. If I am lucky a Stroller Dad (yeah I will be sexist because the active collectors are basically men) has five minutes to check my table. Sure as hell at the five minute mark the airhorn blows, er the child shrieks, and off he goes. And if there is a Stroller Mom behind him watching, Stroller Dad ain’t spending a dime regardless. He can’t. She let him come to the show for an hour but that’s it. He just flips through the cards perfunctorily, looking over his shoulder at his banker, er, wife, with the look of defeat in his eyes, then walks away empty-handed.

Stroller People, here is a suggestion: control your spawn. One kid, had to be about two, was like a song stuck on autoplay, except it was a high-pitched screech that would have signaled “sabertooth tiger” to early man but now is just a tantrum. If the child goes off, take it outside and let it run around. Don’t stay in the show subjecting us all to a toddler aria. We all hate opera.