Brush with Celebrity
When I was in my early 20's, I worked for Amtrak, as a waiter. The trips were 6 days round trip, from LA to either Chicago or New Orleans.
On one trip to Nawhlins, as they called it, there was a celebrity on the train, Michael Gross, the TV father of Michael J Fox, for Family Ties. One waitress on the train, a real doozy of a white trash floozy, told us she knew him, was friendly with him, and that he'd meet us for dinner. We thought she was just tootin' her own horn and fantasizing.
So, we all meet up for dinner at some hopping Jumbalaya Joint in the French Quarter off Bourbon St., drinking, waiting around. Oh, he'll be here soon. As time ticked on, we really doubted her celeb connections. But just when it was time to order, he arrived. The whole restaraunt went quiet and I felt sorry for him, getting all that attention. He goes through his whole life like that, poor bastard. Turns out the trailer trash waitress wasn't lying. He sat down with us, and turned out to be rather friendly.
We all eat dinner, and try as I might to be cordial, I was a young punk, a sarcastic sonofbitch. He makes the comment that me and this other guy are real smart asses. He was right, for we were having fun busting his famous balls with jokes about being "pops." What can I say? We were young punks, train workers in town on a one night tear.
So we go outside and he's with us, walking through the drunken streets, and people keep mobbing him to touch him, talk to him, get his autograph, and it's clear he does not like that. So he says we should keep moving. I suggest we go into this one bar, which was clearly a stripper bar. He quickly agrees while everyone else decides not to. As he and I get inside, it becomes clear that it's a Transvestite/Transexual stripper club, and he and I are the only two non "girls" there. I was wearing shorts, and they liked my legs. There I was, standing in Tranny Ho club with America's TV dad, getting hit on by ulgy, burly "chicks."
We leave, and he becomes warm and friendly with one of the other Christian waitresses and they trail off into the night, escaping the autograph hounds. I take off with other smart ass guys and we drink till morn.
That was the closest I got to fame and celebrity.
When I was in my early 20's, I worked for Amtrak, as a waiter. The trips were 6 days round trip, from LA to either Chicago or New Orleans.
On one trip to Nawhlins, as they called it, there was a celebrity on the train, Michael Gross, the TV father of Michael J Fox, for Family Ties. One waitress on the train, a real doozy of a white trash floozy, told us she knew him, was friendly with him, and that he'd meet us for dinner. We thought she was just tootin' her own horn and fantasizing.
So, we all meet up for dinner at some hopping Jumbalaya Joint in the French Quarter off Bourbon St., drinking, waiting around. Oh, he'll be here soon. As time ticked on, we really doubted her celeb connections. But just when it was time to order, he arrived. The whole restaraunt went quiet and I felt sorry for him, getting all that attention. He goes through his whole life like that, poor bastard. Turns out the trailer trash waitress wasn't lying. He sat down with us, and turned out to be rather friendly.
We all eat dinner, and try as I might to be cordial, I was a young punk, a sarcastic sonofbitch. He makes the comment that me and this other guy are real smart asses. He was right, for we were having fun busting his famous balls with jokes about being "pops." What can I say? We were young punks, train workers in town on a one night tear.
So we go outside and he's with us, walking through the drunken streets, and people keep mobbing him to touch him, talk to him, get his autograph, and it's clear he does not like that. So he says we should keep moving. I suggest we go into this one bar, which was clearly a stripper bar. He quickly agrees while everyone else decides not to. As he and I get inside, it becomes clear that it's a Transvestite/Transexual stripper club, and he and I are the only two non "girls" there. I was wearing shorts, and they liked my legs. There I was, standing in Tranny Ho club with America's TV dad, getting hit on by ulgy, burly "chicks."
We leave, and he becomes warm and friendly with one of the other Christian waitresses and they trail off into the night, escaping the autograph hounds. I take off with other smart ass guys and we drink till morn.
That was the closest I got to fame and celebrity.
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