Now, imagine that you are at your local eatery, the one you always go to for your favorite comfort food. This is not a five star restaurant. Heck, its not much more than a hole in the wall, but its always crowded, the waitress knows you by name, and the food is just like Mama used to make. It's the kind of place where you might run into just about anyone: your third grade teacher, your parent's next-door neighbor, the sound guy for the band you played in twenty years ago and even the mayor on occasion. It's a great place to sit and read the paper or talk to friends and pass the time of day. But its not the place you'd expect to meet someone who knows the one person you've always wanted to meet. And yet...that's exactly what happens.
I'm not putting any definitions on this. I'm not saying it's the governer's nephew or Jennifer Anniston's second cousin. I don't want there to be any chance of this person thinking that I'm using them to make connections to the person they know because that's not something I would ever do. If I happen to meet Matthew McConaughey in a bookstore browsing through the paperbacks and he said hello to me, I might say hi and recommend he read Angels and Demons if he hasn't already, but otherwise I'd let the poor man browse in peace. Famous people are just that...people...and they deserve to go to the grocery store or out to eat with their family or to have a drink at the local pub without being accosted by every Tom, Dick, and Harriet who crosses their path. I don't chase fame, and I don't tend to look at people according to what they've done. I like to judge them on their own merits and talk to them about how they see the world. I do this for everyone, famous or not.
Not that I've met an abundance of famous people. I met the mayor of Rockford once, who is a friend of my husband's ex-wife. I once shook hands with the guy who played Rum-Tum-Tugger in the original cast of Cats and got his autograph. I met a famous guitar player on a couple of occasions and he payed more attention to my bustline than he did to me. Of course, he's a busy man and when one has as many committments as famous people do, sometimes you just like to take a moment and stare at a nice rack. I can't say that mine is fabulous or belongs on the pages of 'Jugs' magazine, but they are a bit hard to ignore. So I didn't fault the guy for talking straight into my bra when he said hello. Oh, and when I was living in Tennesse the local news anchor used to shop at the department store where I worked and I once sold him a gift certificate. Other than that, I don't exactly rub elbows with the high and mighty.
I try not to make a big deal out of fame, since most fame is pure luck...being in the right place at the right time or knowing the right people. Every now and then someone makes it big through hard work, determination, and dedication. But fame is a fickle mistress and there is little one can do to attract her affections. So why should someone be treated as more than they are simply because they caught a break?
Anyway, back to my story. My husband and I were eating at our favorite local hash joint, where the breakfast is out of this world. It's a bit of a local hang-out, where anyone and everyone makes their way to the counter. The one I can say about this part of Yankeeland is that there are lots of little family-owned restaurants with inexpensive food, good service, and all the coffee you can drink. I like it, because it reminds me of places I used to eat when I was growing up, places that are hard to find now, even in small towns down south. So anyway, we're paying our check when he points out to me that a person standing at the counter is a relative of someone famous. Not that you would guess it. The person (and I'm not telling whether it was a male or female) was very unassuming, with a pair of faded jeans and a top that had an intimate acquaintance with the inside of the washer and dryer. This individual looked like we did - the just got out of bed and headed for the nearest coffeepot look. I gave a cursory glance, surreptitiously, of course because I'm not going to gawk, and waited for my husband to finish paying the bill.
As we were leaving, my husband noticed that this person was sitting with an old friend of his. He went over to say hello and the next thing I know, we're all sitting around talking to each other like we've known each other all our lives. It was the most fun I've had with other adults since the night Scott got punched in the mouth by a guy who wanted to take me home. But that's another post. Anway, we all got on like a house on fire and after taking up space for a couple of hours, we all exchanged phone numbers and made promises to get together again soon.
I have reasons for not saying who this person was, who they know, or anything else about them. I genuinely liked them for who they were. It was strange, because I could see the resemblance between this person and their famous relation. They bear some striking physical similarities. But, at the same time, talking to them seemed so natural that any thought of their being related to fame went right out of my head. I also do not want this person to think I only like them or was nice to them because of who they know. That is definitely not true. I would spend time with this person, have them to my house, cook them dinner, let them try my famous spaghetti because I thought they were really cool, and I think we could be friends. If they never mention their famous relative, that's fine with me. After all, I never met that person before now and if I go the rest of my life without meeting them then I've not lost anything.
The experience was very strange, but at the same time, it was wonderful. I've not met a large number of people I can talk with around here. And, if truth be told, I didn't find a whole lot of them down South, either. I was too straightforward to fit in with the church crowd, too intellectual for the rednecks, and too motivated for the ne'er do wells. Here, I'm a bit too refined, a bit too well-mannered, and a bit too rebellious. I hate all the rules and the people who keep trying to catch you breaking them. My 'rules are for people who can't think for themselves' philosophy tends to make people gasp in shock. So it was nice to talk to someone who understands this point of view and who is also funny, genuinely kind, and completely up front about life. And, let me add, this person may know about fame but they are not living a life of privelege. They work three jobs, drive a ten-year-old car, and shop at second-hand stores, just like me.
I'm not really sure why I'm holding back. It's not like anyone ever reads this blog. At the same time, I can't relinquish my principles and risk embarassing someone who took the time to be nice to me. I guess the main reason I don't want to give too many details or say too much about the experience is because, after two years, I may have finally found a friend. And I need all those I can get!
posted by Zoe Richardson @ 10:01 AM
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