Let me start off by bragging a little bit. I’m a big fucking star. Fine, I’m not a star, but everyone on the show knows me. I’ve done that Buster Keaton thing so many times that everyone knows who I am and always say, “Hey, John. Great job the other day” even though we’ve never met. I say, ”Thanks…uh, yeah thanks.” And keep walking.
So, Friday night, Christmas party, packed club, sweating dancing sardines. I’m squeezing sideways between a very large female ass and a thick-shouldered guy with a flailing cigarette. (I decided crotch towards the ass, for anyone wondering.) Then out comes the cry of the banshee…
“There he is. There’s my guy!” A fist comes into my peripheral and there is that quick flash that I should duck to avoid it. But it’s one of those bonding, let’s touch knuckles, type of handshakes. The fist belongs to this incredibly tall skinny guy in a cowboy hat. I think he works in the art department. I saw him earlier and I swear he changed hats sometime during the party. This was not the same one he had coming in. I made a fist and knuckled back to show I’m a, “with it” kind of guy. (Anyone who uses the phrase, “with it” is not with it.)
He howls: “What’s going on with my identical twin?”
I am very confused. This guy is skinny as a rail and has a good six to eight inches on me. His features have some Slavic influence to them. Sharp skinny nose, eyes close together, hallow cheeks and again this fuckin’ guy is tall. I’m the Herve Villechaize to this guys Ricardo Montalban.
I have to find out what this guy is talking about. “Twins? I don’t get it?”
He pulls off his cowboy hat, “Check it!” The guy has a shaved head like me. He points between our two craniums a couple of times, “We’re both losin’ our hair man! Let's get a drink.”
Now evidently this guy has issues with his thinning pate. I understand, I wish I had more hair than I do. But it’s the twin thing that is really getting to me. Even if I were shit-faced, high and squinting into a funhouse mirror, I couldn’t see how the phrase twins would come into play.
I get it though, he’s drunk, having a good time and everyone is his friend. I’ve been there, now I’m on the other side and wonder about all of the tremendously stupid shit I’ve said when under the influence. Then again there is a ton of stupid shit I say sober.
I tell him thanks, but I’m on my way out. “No problem, Happy holidays, man. See you in two weeks. Oh and great job today, it was hysterical!”
“Thanks…uh, yeah thanks.” And I’m out of there.
p.s. being short does have an upside. don't think I'm bagging on it.
No comments:
Post a Comment