This is one of those experiences that you mostly only have in New York or L.A., so I thought I would share it. Maybe it will make you laugh, and then I can knock off early for the day, since that’s my mission in life.
Wednesday night I was waiting for my car at a valet stand—the valet guy was asking me some question about my car, and then, out of the blue, Mel Gibson walked up beside us, because he needed his keys.
Here’s the thing—having grown up in Palm Springs and then spending the past eight years back and forth between NY and LA, I maintain a strict adherence to a policy I call "ignore celebrities." I’m not an autograph seeker, I would never take a picture with my cellphone in a million years, and God forbid I would give one of them the satisfaction of going “hey man….you were really good in X.” It’s not that I love celebrities so much—I just think hey, we’re all out here doing our thing, let’s live and let live, and let Mel Gibson pick up his car. When I’m an internationally famous, bestselling author, I will expect the same courtesy from the citzens of Santa Monica.
Anyway, Mel Gibson kind of smiled at me and gave me a head nod (maybe because I’m blonde, who knows?) , and we stood there for awhile in complete silence, me staring at my shoes. Then I started to get this weird vibe from him, though, like “How come you’re not reacting? I’m MEL GIBSON. From Braveheart? You know?” This made me start thinking about how weird his life must be, that he can’t go one place on earth without people totally knowing all about him, and how he got pulled over for DUI and then called one of the officers “Sugar Tits,” and how maybe he has a certain level of expectation now that people are going to talk to him, and if he doesn’t get that he thinks THAT’s weird. I actually was spending so much energy considering this and actively ignoring him that finally I said to the valet guy “You know what, just give him his keys, and then let’s finish this discussion.” And it wasn’t because I wanted Mel Gibson to get special treatment. No, it was more like I wanted Mel Gibson to go away, so I could stop pretending he wasn’t there, and he could stop pretending that he knew I was pretending I didn’t know who he was, or whatever. Now I’ve confused myself.
The bottom line is—I ignore celebrities, sometimes to the point of ridiculousness, probably because it’s part of some “cool kids” club for people who live in New York or LA, like we’re too cool to even talk to them. I LIKE it when Beyonce comes into my Starbucks, just so I can be like “So? You think you’re better than me? I get lattes here too, dude.”