To quote from the movie Trading Places, “Nothing can prepare you for the unbridled carnage you are about to witness.”

That kind of experience is pretty much what I expected on the eve of my first large comic convention.

I’d bought a ticket to WizardCon. Until then, the only experience I’d had with large conventions was what I’d seen or heard about the San Diego Comic-Con. That event draws more than 100,000 people, and most videos of it show a colossal tide of humanity slowly funneling its way through an elaborate maze of booths and displays.

I didn’t expect Wizard-Con to be that nuts, but I still showed up four hours early, thinking I needed to be first in line to get my badge, and then first onto the convention floor.

Maybe arriving that early that was a bit of overkill. For a Friday anyway… the crowd was light. Saturday was different. When I left the convention at 3:00 on Saturday, the entrance line was four-people wide and went around an entire city block.

It’s impossible to point to any one thing that makes comic conventions so popular, but there’s no denying their ability to attract a crowd from every different walk of life. According to Comics Beat, attendance at “comic book themed events” is growing 20 percent annually. The only events that sell more tickets are state fairs.

There’s also no denying the money extracting power of conventions, which explains why there are so many of them. Comics Beat reported that conventions were a $3 billion industry last year. To put that into perspective, it would take someone earning minimum wage 150,000 years to earn that much. It’s also four times the revenue the entire comic publishing industry makes in a year.

As for the average convention-goer, one thing I’ve noticed is that almost all of them are smiling and in a good mood. There’s even a general attitude of camaraderie.

Most conventions “stage” attendees in a holding area in between the main entrance to the convention facility and the actual convention floor. We get stacked up in rows for up to an hour, but unlike lines at the airport, this is a party. You get to know your neighbors, swap stories, and talk about why you’re all there. It’s kind of bonding—I think all of us are so aware of the stigma of comic conventions being a Nerd Mecca that we’re all a little sheepish about being caught at one. Yet we stay, and eventually take comfort and find courage in our solidarity.

That staging area is not the only time you spend waiting in line—most of the convention experience can be summed up as “waiting,” but it’s all good. The human spectacle that is the parade of characters and costumes provides ceaseless entertainment.

You never know who—or what—you’re going to see wandering around the convention, but it’s as close to a Halloween party as you can get, and everyone is out to have fun.

At my first convention, I was amazed at the diversity of the crowd. Don’t get me wrong—the stereotypical comic fan was visible and on display in all its glory, but they were elusive. The general audience was just that: anything you’d see walking around Disneyland, including what was to me an astonishing number of women. Every convention I’ve attended has been an even mix of men and women, on both sides of the tables. That really opened my eyes to what a big market women are in the comics world today.

After the costumes there is, of course, whatever you’re waiting in line for. Usually you’re waiting to meet an artist or a writer, shake hands, get an autograph and deliver whatever short speech you’ve mentally prepared while waiting for this moment. When my turn finally comes at the front, it’s hard to strike a balance between wanting strike up a meaningful conversation and remembering there are still people waiting, sometimes hundreds of them, for their turn. The good news is most artists understand how important their fans are, so even though you may only get a couple minutes with them, it’s a quality couple minutes. I’ve yet to meet an artist who was anything other than a class act, both gracious and grateful there are people out there who appreciate their work.

Sometimes, however, you’ll walk up to an artist’s table with no line, and that is a huge opportunity to have a conversation. If you appreciate comics as an art medium, or want to break into drawing or writing comics, this can be a great opportunity to learn more about the craft from people who actually make a living at it.

Panels are another big convention element. Panels on drawing. Panels on writing. Panels on women in comics. Panels on cosplay. Panels on characters, movies, TV shows and gaming. The bigger the convention, the greater the number of panels. It can be daunting, but thanks to the advent of the smart phone, most big conventions have downloadable apps that help you schedule where you want to be and when, so you don’t miss anything.

That requires some planning. If there’s one takeaway I got from my first convention it’s that unless you’re just want to wander aimlessly and enjoy the pageantry of it all, you need to do your homework. Study the event schedule, study the list of featured guests and artists, and study the map. It’s more work than should be necessary for something like this, but the alternative is going in circles all day. Decide what’s most important to you, do that first, and then have a flexible plan for everything else.

If you’ve never attended a comic convention, check one out. It certainly qualifies for the list of “things everybody should do once.” It’s not unbridled carnage, but it is a carnival, rock concert, shopping mall, art exhibit, and fascinating social studies experiment, all in one bright, colorful package.