My coworker and I had concocted a plan to go to the state fair, ride some rides, and watch our favorite band, Lifehouse, perform. I was a teenager trying to figure out life, she was a working mom, and Lifehouse was the link that kept us sane.
Once there, we did the normal fair type things: Ate junk food, rode the carousel, screamed profanities while on the thing-that-spins-you-around-so-fast-you're-sure-you'll-die.
After we had recovered, we decided to take it down a notch and go to the haunted house. We were standing in line when a couple of men walked up behind us and attempted to start a conversation. We turned to see a younger guy with a shaved head in a bright red shirt, and an older man, in a black shirt with the word "Security" on the front. You would think that would have tipped me off, but it didn't. It was the late 90's and shirts with the word "Police" and "SWAT"on the front were everywhere. I just figured it was part of the fashion statement of the week.
They asked us if we were enjoying the fair, what we had done so far, and if we were afraid of the haunted house. We answered their questions, they peppered us with more inquiries, and we tried to get out of the conversation at every opportunity. We were shy girls from a small town, both of us in relationships, and they were strangers from the big bad city.
They kept talking and we switched to Plan B, which meant ignoring them entirely. I only felt mildly bad until they laughed it off and kept at it. Then I didn't feel bad at all. Somehow fate placed them in the cart behind us on the ride and the whole way through they kept up their end of the conversation. In their defense, my screams of terror may have been misinterpreted as screams of admiration. We bolted as soon as the ride ended and left them talking to themselves.
When the time came for the show to start, we handed our tickets over and took our seats. The opening act came up and the house of people cheered them on. Finally, the moment we were waiting for had arrived. It was time for Lifehouse.
As the band was setting up I noticed a dozen men standing around the stage, all wearing black shirts with white writing that said "Security." Among them was a very familiar looking security man. I shrugged it off as a coincidence. How could our stranger have known he'd be competing with all these actual security guards? Fashion can be tricky like that.
Then, to my complete bewilderment, a bald headed man in a bright red shirt went to sit behind the drums. My jaw fell to the floor. I grabbed my friend, pointed to the stage, and mimed the words I was unable to express. We had blown off the drummer of Lifehouse, and his security guard.
Lesson Learned: The stranger you're ignoring, he might just be from your favorite band. Be polite now or regret it later.
Unless of course he's creepy. Then go straight to Plan B.
Have you had a brush with fame? Tell me. Or better yet, write about it. I found this awesome site and I got this idea from them - Smithmag.net. Check it out! It's a great place for writers to join together.
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