The Majel Hat

I bought a Majel Hat.  You know, those outrageous things Majel Barrett sells at cons, with the pesos and gold trim and Starfleet insignias?  I know they're obnoxious.  I know they're expensive.  I know that, no matter what you're wearing (unless it's an outfit worthy of Carmen Miranda on steroids), they're not going to match.  But I bought one.  It was peer pressure.

By the time I made it to Galaxy Faire 1992 in Dallas, I considered myself a time-hardened con-goer.  I was, after all, a veteran of two Trek cruises.  I'd been in fandom for almost ten years.  I edited my own fanzine and was a dealer.  I'd been to five cons and had already done my first panel.  I was no neo to be lured by hastily-packaged Vulcan ears or overpriced communicator pins.  I cruised the dealers' room with confident, business-like composure.  I searched through stills for anything we at Nova Press could use for illustrations, casually flipped through the used zines at various tables, and then bought my one "fun" puchase of the con--a copy of the "Menage A Troi" script, which Majel graciously autographed.  I was content.

My assistant for the weekend was a neo at her very first con. She's watched a total of five TNG episodes and about one and a half episodes of Classic Trek.  She was winging it.  To her credit, Julie was a quick study.  After listening to my sales pitch for a couple of hours, she was selling Supernovas, Havens, and Federation Classics like a pro, pointing out the various stories (which she'd never read) and showing the lovely illustrations to anyone who stopped long enough to be grabbed.  She was brilliant.

She was also a little insane.  Neo-fan or not, Julie is a money-management nightmare.  She hopped around the dealers' room like a kid at Christmas, each time coming back with some new (and useless) item to give to her nieces and nephews.  Little Mermaid trading cards, TNG stickers, a button that said, "Make it so!"  You name it, she plunked down her money for it.

But when she came back with that Majel hat, flooded with pesos and gold trim and little Starfleet insignias, that's when I knew she'd gone over the edge.  I mean, where was she going to wear that thing?  Sunday Mass?  Oh, yeah, Father Keller would really go for that!  I goaded her mercilessly, calling her a helpless consumer with no willpower whatsoever, secretly wondering how far I'd get if I ripped it off her head and ran like hell.

to be continued....

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