You did not buy this badge. Nobody buys this badge. You entered a lottery, refreshed a queue page with your heart going, and either the system chose you or it did not — and that is before the convention has even opened.
Four or five hours on one uncrowded floor. The people walking it are professionals, longtime attendees, and lottery winners, and they move deliberately because they already know what is here and where. Lines for the most-wanted exclusives form well before the hall opens, but the rest of it is walkable in a way that becomes physically impossible by Saturday. You learn the layout, mark the panels, and buy the thing before it evaporates.
The convention center on Harbor Drive, one Wednesday evening in July, trolley running late and nowhere nearby to park.
Send it to the friend who has entered that lottery three years running and still talks about it.