It was Friday and getting close to midnight, and I was still standing in the overnight line for San Diego Comic-Con's Hall H, where Zack Snyder and the cast of Batman v. Superman would be presenting the next day. Hall H is where all of the biggest panels are held — it's the location of legend at Comic-Con — and if you want to get in, you have to get there early.

At first it was just a single blur, something I couldn't make out shooting across the sidewalk. Then it was a big one, causing my neighbor to jump up from her sleep. Soon they were all over the rocks against the bay, people crushing them and shouting in fright all along the line.

I had been waiting for close to 10 hours at that point. For the most part, it hadn't been so bad. I was concerned about being stuck out in the California sun — one person I spoke with had gotten a "massive sunburn" on her arm from shielding her face while waiting in line the prior day — but I was fortunate enough to end up so far back in line that I was shaded in the trees of a small park about half a mile away from Hall H. I had a lovely view of the bay, and the cool breeze coming in off the water kept temperatures mild through the afternoon. "Other than the thrill of sitting in Hall H, this is not fun." But as the day went on, things started to go downhill. The air began to get cold. No one in the area was selling food or water. The convention was supposed to issue wristbands so that we could all go home and come back in the morning, but two hours after they were supposed to arrive, we hadn't heard a thing. Also, there were cockroaches. A lot of them. "He's killed like four so far." Jill Hanson was sitting in a small group about a hundred people ahead of me. She and two men were all bundled up in sweatshirts, which they'd borrowed from another line-sitter they'd met that night. "It's kinda disgusting, and it wasn't like this last year," Hanson says. "We've also seen a couple mice jumping around in the rocks." "This is ridiculous," says Dawn Ragnar, who lent Hanson's group some of her extra clothing. "Other than the thrill of sitting in Hall H, this is not fun."

The line for Hall H has been getting longer and longer each year, and there's a broad consensus among repeat line sitters that this year is the worst yet. "It's never been this bad," Brenda Arson, who's been coming to Comic-Con for nine years, tells me. Many point to 2009's Twilight panel as the tipping point, when some fans started arriving upward of a day early just to guarantee themselves a seat in the hall. For most people, though, you could arrive only hours early and still get in. At least until these past couple years. "Now it's become such a thing that you have to stay overnight," Arson says. It's around one in the morning and she's wrapped in a thick blanket near the front of the park line. Her group arrived at noon after monitoring the line's growth on Twitter. "You have to give them half of your convention," she says. Around 5 percent of Comic-Con attendees can fit into Hall H Over 6,000 people can fit inside of Hall H. It's an enormous space, but in comparison to the 130,000 people who attend Comic-Con in total, it's nothing. Comic-Con's attendance has been exploding in recent years as its focus goes more mainstream. No longer is it a show about selling back issues of comics and collectible toys: it's a show about movies, TV shows, video games, and all of the biggest franchises. If you're even the slightest bit a geek, there's something for you. Other conventions have ways of dealing with their huge attendance. BlizzCon, VidCon, and Disney's D23 Expo and Star Wars Celebration all used Los Angeles' Anaheim Convention Center, which has about 30 percent more exhibiting space than the San Diego Convention Center. Other conventions use overflow seating into additional rooms, which provide a live stream so that people can still watch the proceedings. Comic-Con could choose to pick up and move, but it hasn't just yet. Earlier this month, the convention made a deal with the city of San Diego to stay around through 2018, so convention attendees can expect at least three more years of ballooning attendance figures and declining free space. But there must be ways to handle the line until then. "There's a better way to do it. There's a hell of a better way to do it," Manuel Robles, whose spot in line put him beside the open doors of a public bathroom, tells me. "Waiting out here to see if you get in or don't get in is a waste of everyone's time. You miss the panels. You miss the parties."

Comic-Con has already started experimenting with ways to handle the crowd when it comes to other parts of the event. Lines may still be first-come-first-serve, but autographs, purchases of SDCC-exclusive collectibles, and even parking and finding a hotel are in some cases done through a lottery system. Attendees put their name in if they want a chance at getting something signed or buying a new item, and they find out later whether they won or lost. It results in disappointments — someone told me they lost six lotteries the other year when trying to get Guillermo del Toro to sign their Pacific Rim poster — but it removes lines and fights and opens attendees up to actually experience the Con. "Comic-Con prefers that people not wait in line overnight." Those in line for Hall H, even past midnight and trying to sleep beside cockroaches — "It's better than sleeping with homeless people yesterday in the park," one person tells me — largely don't want to see the lottery system come to Hall H. Getting into Hall H is what they come to San Diego for, many told me, and if they lost a raffle, the experience might just feel like a waste of money. Some, like Robles, think it would be unfair. People pay thousands of dollars to travel to and stay in San Diego just for a chance at Hall H — they shouldn't be able to lose out to someone who lives in the city just because that person got lucky. "Comic-Con prefers that people not wait in line overnight," said David Glanzer, Comic-Con’s marketing director, in an email to The Verge. "However this seems like an increasingly unrealistic appeal. Because of this we try to at least identify a location that can actually accommodate the crowds that may accumulate, which is the reason for its current placement." "There is no doubt this will be among our many debriefings and discussions." Glanzer says that SDCC has been taking steps toward improving the experience in recent years, including hiring a team to maintain the bathroom facilities along the line 24 hours a day. There are also drinking fountains and portable restrooms in the area. But these feel like stopgap measures. Setting up a snaking queue into a park half a mile away and making occasional security strolls is helpful, but it isn't a solution; it isn't going to help the people who enjoy this convention the most really get the most out of their trip. "Comic-Con takes the well-being of all our attendees very seriously and will review all policies and procedures after the event," Glazner says. "There is no doubt this will be among our many debriefings and discussions." But with the convention scheduled to return to San Diego for at least three more years, a location change is undoubtedly out of the question.