Tash applied the Page 69 Test to her new book, The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love, and reported the following:
From page 69:Visit Sarvenaz Tash's website.Just as I told Felicia earlier, everything here needs wristbands. "Rooms will be cleared out between each panel in the main halls and wristbands will be checked," a sign tells me in the con’s signature Comic Sans font (which, besides actual comic books, is the only place Comic Sans is ever called for). "Absolutely no photography or videography. Anyone caught filming or taking pictures will immediately be escorted out of the room," another sign reads, adding insult to injury.In this scene, Graham is desperately trying to see if there is anyway he can get the panel tickets that he missed out on even though he stood in line overnight for them. This panel is extra important to him because it's the centerpiece of his grand plan to tell his best friend that he's in love with her (it involves a very rare appearance from their all-time favorite comic book creator, Robert Zinc). I do think this scene is pretty indicative of Graham's voice and also of how much this weekend means to him. For him, there couldn't possibly be bigger stakes than professing his love to Roxy, and he's hoping that his lifelong study of epic stories (in comic books, movies, books, and TV shows) will provide him with some much-needed guidance.
There are people lined up in front of 1-E already, every one of them adorned with a silver-colored piece of paper around their wrist. I’ve never been so jealous of a piece of sticky paper in my life. And then, worst of all, I catch a glimpse of the Zinc hater in the Papa Smurf hat. Unbelievable. He gets to see Robert Zinc and Roxana and I don’t?
There’s a curly-haired guy in a teal Comic Con staff shirt standing guard in front of the line. I try to exhale my anger out before I approach him.
“Excuse me,” I say, putting on an I-promise-I-am-polite-and-rational smile and asking him something I’m sure he’s heard at least a dozen times today, “but is there any way I can get into this panel?”
“Do you have a wristband?” he asks, not in an unfriendly tone.
“No,” I say. He starts to shake his head, but I continue, “I actually waited in line for it since last night. I was number one hundred and three in line, so I should’ve had one. But then there was a great big bum rush and all these people cut ahead of me.” I realize exactly what I’m doing: the nerd whine. But nothing is beneath me at this point. If he asked me to grovel, or lick the floor, or sing an Ariana Grande ballad in front of the whole con, I would do it. “It’s just ... really unfair.” And my nerdgradation is complete.