*It's 1774, attending the latest sci-fi convention is no other than one of your favorite authors "Harlan Ellison" oh my god you could scream, you call off work the day he attends just to go to get an autograph so

There, you find yourself waiting

And waiting

Andddd waitinggg

An hour or so later (you may have spaced out in line) and just a couple more people ahead of you until it's your turn. Your palms turn sweaty as you firmly grasp the book before stepping up to the table to greet a very tired harlan with a Sharpie between his fingers and a pipe perched between his thin lips expressing his tension and slight annoyance*