Carpe'ing the Diem

If you worked in the restaurant business long enough, sooner or later you're going to be exposed to a celebrity.  Or at least someone who everyone in the house recognizes, and has to do a "Flyby" of the table, to check out.  Which is not to be confused with "Crop Dusting" which hopefully doesn't have to be defined.  Having worked in Hollywood, I've been fairly jaded to celebrity spottings, so it doesn't really quake me in my boots to see a recognizable face at my bar.

I've served people like Clinton Kelly, John Lithgow, Jamie Foxx, Jack Black, and Keanu Reeves.  (I'm experimenting with hyper-links, can you tell? What can I say? This blogging thing is new to me, *shrug*) All of whom were generally pleasant and polite the the exception of Jamie Foxx, who was kind of mean and a terrible tipper.  I know name dropping is kinda douchey, but for the sake of telling a good story, who cares.

I was working at the Bookstar while I was studying actor in my twenties.  It was a somewhat mind numbing job, but I loved to access to all the bios, plays, screenplays, and how-to books that came along with that job.  I could ride my bike to work, and it had some benefits.  But during the holliday season of '98 I was working one of the registers when one of my coworkers put an elbow in my ribs.  "Do you know who that is?" he asked.

I had no idea.  He was about 5' 9" dressed in a black suit.  Medium length black hair and reading glasses.  He was peering some new Historical Fiction book.  Just as I'm about to ask my co-worker who he is a tall lanky blond with a husky piercing voice emerges from around the corner where he's perusing books and says, "Shadow, look at this."  The man puts down his book and joins is blond companion around the corner and out of site.  My eyes got wide.  "I know who that is!" I thought to myself.

"Cover me." I said to my coworker, and ran into the back of the Bookstar to rummage through Old Rock Rags.  (magazines that don't sell and are out of date)  All magazines, if they don't sell, get the cover torn off, and sent back to the publisher for credit, and the rest of the magazines get thrown away or recycled.  There is always a stack of magazines two or three feet high that get thrown away every month.

I begin tearing through magazines, one after the other.  I finally find what I'm looking for.  A foldout poster that can be ripped out and autographed.  Perfect.

I run back up to the register to see if "Shadow" and his blond escort is still hanging around.  I don't see them anywhere.  "Bummer" I think to myself, "Christmas is coming and that would have made a great gift".

I check out a few more people,  and am getting ready to go on my break, when I look up and there is the dark haired man with his blond companion.  My whole body get's that shot of adrenaline like I've unexpectedly come across a snake.  I may have.

I help them purchase their books, and as they are finishing up, I pull the poster that I had stolen from the magazine out, and ask. "Can you sign this for me?  If my brother finds out I saw you and didn't get your autograph he'll kick my ass."  This is true.

"For your brother huh?"  Says the dark haired man.  "What's his name?"

I tell him my brothers name, and he signs the poster.  "Sweet" I'm thinking to myself, "I got my brother's Christmas present this year".

They leave the store, and as they leave I look down at the autograph.  It reads.  "To Chad, Rock All Night Long!!!  Gene Simmons".