Trying to explain Yu-Gi-Oh! to people who don’t get it is fun, because you’re trying to explain the importance of Duel Monsters and they’re just sitting there going “but why didn’t Kaiba just call the cops and have the American police stop Pegasus’ men at the border and get Mokuba back that way”.
It’s easy to lose track of how much money you’re spending when you’re at a convention. Your basic math skills and your knowledge of how they relate to your bank account is replaced by an overwhelming urge to own all of the Legend Of Zelda T-shirts and Fallout memorabilia that you never knew you needed before. Every tidbit that you’ve ever learned about budgeting is thrown out the window, because that booth is selling the kind of replica leather jackets that you’d wear if you were slowly whittling down a werewolf’s health with fireballs, and holy shit, how cool would you look in a werewolf-burning outfit?
I’ve watched this happen quite a few times. Caught in the heat of the moment, someone would be told that the weight of buying every Japanese version of the first-generation Pokemon games was going to crush their debit card, and they would suffer what can only be called a sudden awareness of their mortality. At a horror convention, trying to balance a malicious spending habit with an income that fell between “No money” and “Canned ravioli is good if you steal your roommate’s cheese to put on it,” I tried to buy a replica Freddy Krueger glove.
As I totally overestimated how impressed the female population of my college would be to find aNightmare On Elm Street prop mounted on my dresser, my debit card was declined so hard that the machine got a stress fracture. I slunk away and made sure to never walk in front of that particular vendor again, lest he remember my face, point to me, and exclaim, “Shame the broke dork!”