People always ask if I see a lot of celebrities. I do. Over the past year, I've seen the likes of Lewis Black, Jorge Garcia, Martin Landau, Fred Willard, and Chris Rock, to name a few. The most starstruck I've ever been was when I watched Dan Aykroyd, completely miserable, stroll past me. That was huge for me, because some of my earliest memories include my brother and I watching Ghostbusters while wearing our respective Venkman and Stanz jumpsuits and proton packs. I've never had the guts to say anything to a celebrity, especially someone like Aykroyd, who I grew up watching. I don't need one of my childhood heroes letting me down, so I don't bother rolling the dice and approaching them.
One would think that I have to have at least one celebrity story. The only one I had up until this week was after I saw Jim Norton, one of my favorite comics, at Caroline's Comedy Club in 2009. My wonderful ex-girlfriend thought she was impressing me by "surprising" me and getting her tits signed by Mr. Norton after the show. Being that this is a guy who makes a living by talking about his sexual dysfunctions and odd fetishes on the radio, it wasn't fun to watch him swipe a sharpie across my girlfriend's breasts. She showed off her autograph to all of my friends, and the last "N" in "Norton" had just cleared her aureola. I brought this girl home to my mother. She eventually cheated on me and we broke up, but that's another story.
So the other night, it was just another evening on the door. I had made $21 more than my quota for the evening, so I was a happy doorman. It was the one of the first nice days of the year in a grossly elongated winter, so every female in manhattan was showing skin. That's one of the fine perks of working outside.
One of my co-workers, "Maria", who when she comes back from a run in the dead of summer is a solid 9, ended her shift in her going-out clothes. She wore a skin-tight blue dress, with a denim-jacket that stopped halfway down her torso. Her jet-black hair helped magnify her crystal-blue eyes, which are so intoxicating that I mostly have to focus on a different part of her face when talking to her. She's an aspiring model, so we sometimes commiserate about trying to break into our respective industries. In addition to being one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, she's also completely humble and approachable.
She was telling about some gig that she got, and I told her that I was in pre-production for a pilot "this pilot I'm shooting". Being that it was a day where the guests and outside world didn't completely suck the soul out of my body, I was in good spirits and making jokes, and she gets my sense-of-humor. Being a schmuck in a doorman uniform and making a hot girl laugh is good for the ego. I was on a roll.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rather large, tanned man walking toward me. Maria's back was turned to him. I take my attention off of her for a brief second, and there he was:
I get easily star-struck, and even though I'm a life-long Met fan, I got that blast at the pit of my stomach that you get when you unexpectedly see someone famous. I've always detested him, because, well, what the fuck is there to like about the guy?
I couldn't help but stare. Like him or not, he's still one of the most polarizing athletes on the planet. Though he wasn't looking forward or at me. He was staring at Maria's ass.
As soon as I noticed where he was looking, he made eye contact with me. I froze. Fuck. I hate getting caught staring at celebrities.
He made another obvious glance at Maria and frowned his eyebrows. He looked back at me, then nodded and winked, as if to say "good for you, Doorman." This multi-million dollar athlete thinks that this is my chick. When you spend your entire day getting disrespected, having even the most unlikable of athletes throw a boost of confidence your way is kind of nice.
My first impulse was to actually say "No, A-Rod! This isn't my girl! She's just a friend!" as he zipped past me. I thankfully didn't. I just turned back to Maria, who had asked a question and was waiting for me to respond.
Maria - "You okay, Doorman?"
Doorman - "What?"
Maria - "What's your pilot about?"
Behind me, I heard a thick New York accent scream "OHHHH SHIT!!! YO, I'M A BIG FAN!!!" To which a familiar voice playfully responded "Then why are you wearing a Boston hat?" This got Maria's attention.
Marina - "Is that A-Rod?"
I turned to see him taking a picture with the fan. A large crowd was beginning to convene around him, and to his credit, he was totally cool and graceful. I really wish I had seen him being a dick to the fans to justify how I've always felt about the guy. But I can't. Despite all of the PED rumors, and the aloof manner in which the media has portrayed him for all these years, he was really great to a group of fans for the brief moment that I watched him.
Doorman - "Oh yeah, I guess so."
Maria - "Fuck him. I'm a Met fan."
God, I love this woman.
Only 38 hours left to donate to the #Doorman pilot!!! Make it happen!!!