August 03, 2010

"I know you! You're famous!"

This is actually one of my more oddball fears—and I've got a lot of oddball fears. "What is?" you ask politely. To be recognized in public. "Why?" you gently query. Because I'm a shy fucking person. A fucking shy person? I'm just totally, seriously, desperately shy. So when I went through the aisle with Georgia at a gourmet grocery store, and the checker said loudly, "I know you! You're famous!" my heart stopped.

"No, really! I saw you in the newspaper! I saw your picture!"

Other people in line started staring at me. I went scarlet.

Okay, so it turns out he thought I was some singer. But damn. I'm sure you all heard the sound of my jaw dropping. Georgia almost choked on her giggles when we were outside again. "You thought he knew..."


I've told you all about the "she nibbled around his asshole," story, right? Yes? No? I'll tell it again, just in case... Once upon a time, I gave my roommate a copy of my first novel. This was back when Nirvana's Nevermind was slowly killing off the hairbands. Unbeknownst to me, my roommate lent his copy to his buddy, who apparently devoured the whole dirty thing in one gleefully masturbatory burst. That afternoon, as we all sat drinking margaritas at El Coyote, this man leaned over to me and whispered a line from my novel. A line that was something like, "She nibbled gently around his asshole." Or he did it to her. Someone did something to somebody's asshole, and this semi-stranger decided it would be a good idea to tell me about it at a bar on Beverly.

I was gobsmacked. Wait, no this was before I knew what that meant. I was floored.

"You wrote that," he said, beaming.

I think this is where my fear of being recognized comes from. That someone I don't know will come up to me and quote something filthy I wrote, and I will just look at them as if they are from another planet. And they'll say, "The Blue Rose. Page 17, line 4." Or what have you.

Delusional? Sure. Purely paranoid? Yes. But all good fears have some basis in reality, don't they?



Jo said...

I think that fear is pretty founded, alright.

The correct response would be to shriek, 'How Dare You!' and smack them with your newspaper.

Alison Tyler said...

I'll start carrying the Times with me everywhere. Thanks for the tip, J!