wannabetvwriter

I be a good righter.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Random Occurences Part Deux

Okay. I'm not old. Well, I'm in my early thirties which may be old for LA, but not old by the usual standards. Plus, I look late twenties, so you know, I've got Estee Lauder on my side.

However, this morning, I was having brunch with my hip-pocket agent's assistant. She's a little late, I'm a little hungover. Anyway, she shows up, walking very quickly and almost covertly toward our table. She sits down, and immediately lowers her head. She's hiding. I'm thinking, have the KGB returned? Are they hot on her trail? What the hell's going on?

Turns out, the biggest asshole in the agency (we'll call him Karl), who happens to be kind of high up (I guess neither are mutually exclusive) is sitting at a table toward the front, and she doesn't want to have to talk to him on her day off. Thankfully, she's seated with her back to him, so she should be in the clear. Except, um, I guess the guy had to take a leak, and he doesn't know where the men-with-small-penises-who-yell-at-their-assistants-to-compensate's room is, so he has to stop near our table to ask directions. I make insane eye motions with my eyes, and my friend pulls her menu in front of her face. Crisis averted.

A couple of minutes later, Asshole Karl forgotten, menu items chosen, our waitress begins taking our order. We shouldn't have forgotten Asshole Karl, because of course if he has to walk by our table to get the the MWSPWYATATC's room, he'll have to walk by our table to get back to his table. This simple logic eludes my small brain. So, we're ordering. And Asshole Karl walks by, and instantly recognizes my friend. I'm somewhat blocked by the waitress, but not so much that the following makes any sense:

ASSHOLE KARL (re: me): Is this your mother?

ME: Oh my god.

FRIEND: Oh my god.

WAITRESS: Oh my god.

NEARBY BUSBOY: Oh my god.

ASSHOLE KARL: What? (he takes a closer look at me) Oh my god.

Asshole Karl apologizes profusely. Says he's hungover (so am I, honey). I can't stop saying "Oh my god." I mean, I'm mortified. I'm the type of person when I tell you my real age, people are agog. Not in the "you're old enough to be your friend's mother" way. But in the "You look WAY younger than that" way. Seriously. I mean, a year ago I got ID'd for cigarettes (that was odd, flattering, but odd, I don't look THAT young).

My friend and I continue on with our meal. Occasionally I whisper "oh. my. god." But for the most part, it's a very nice time, and she's a lovely gal. We finish eating and chatting, and after exchanging "we should TOTALLY do this again"s, I head out to the valet, she heads to the little gal's room.

Of course, who should be standing at the valet station, waiting for his car, but Asshole Karl. So, I'm like, dood, you've scarred me for life. He apologizes some more. And seriously, because I know what a fucker he's been to all of his assistants, I'm kind of happy that I've got him grovelling. So, I tell him:

ME: My name's Boom. Remember it. Because you totally owe me. (I also mention my hip-pocket agent, and tell him I'm making sure that Hip-Pocket Agent gives Asshole Karl shit on Monday).

His girlfriend's laughing her ass off. She apparently thinks I'm fabulous. He's completely red-faced, I'm not sure if he's pissed or still embarrassed. But my friend promises that she'll be telling his assistant this story on Monday. So, the next time he calls her by the nickname he has for her (the name of a pig in a children's book), hopefully she can think about him having to grovel to me, and it will make her day a little nicer.

I'm always willing to take one for the assistants.

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