When I speak to high school classes about my career, students usually ask, “Who’s the most famous person you have ever seen?”
Since I have attended several concerts and shows, it’s a fairly long list. I assume they’re asking about celebrities I’ve seen in person, so I name a few presidents, actors, comedians, musicians, and athletes.
But if they’re asking about those with whom I’ve actually had a face-to-face conversation, the list shrinks to two presidents (Ronald Reagan and Jimmy Carter, take your pick), and a smaller group of celebrities. When I met Bob Hope, he was the most famous person in the world. Sadly, most of today’s teens have never heard of him.
Occasionally they will ask, “Were you ever afraid to talk to a famous person?” Oddly enough, no. Upon seeing them in the flesh, I figure we are on equal ground. They are no better than me. They are usually far wealthier, but I just attribute that to my laziness. I could be a superstar too, but achieving that goal would interfere with my frequent naps, and that is a deal breaker.
Observing those who are incredibly famous, wealthy, or powerful, is fascinating to me. They have no privacy. Nor, some might argue, are they entitled to any. After all, that person who has been elected Senator, or walked on the moon, or stars on a popular TV show intended to become famous, right? They knew that requests for selfies and autographs come with the territory. So, good luck enjoying those fries while they’re hot. Some of your fans want to chat.
For some odd reason, the major networks have yet to invite me to take over the evening news or the Today Show, so my fame is limited to those who still watch my local TV station. That number is not what it once was. Back when there were only 3 channels, a local news reader was as famous in his city as Walter Cronkite. Now, with hundreds of channels and thousands of online sites, I’m more often looked at with curiosity. As in, “I know you from somewhere. Do you owe me money?” (That is quite possible. Check back with me when I finish my fries.)
Still, now and then, I have a “star moment.” And last week, I had a doozy.
While looking for some cheap frozen dinners at the supermarket, I spotted one of the store workers. Or maybe he spotted me. After a few awkward seconds of eye contact, I blurted out “What’s on sale?”
The usual answer is, “Everything is on sale here at Food Frenzy!” Not this time. He proceeded to rant about how “everything is too high,” and “I don’t know what’s going on in Washington, but they need to get their (stuff) together!”
I realized I had entered into a topic I was not prepared to discuss in public, so I tried to wrap up our little exchange. But he was just getting warmed up. “See this box of biscuits? It was under two dollars a few weeks ago, but now it’s $3.98! That’s horse (manure)!” He paused briefly, and stared. “Hey, aren’t you David Carroll?” I nodded yes.
I then pretended I was getting a phone call, and walked away. Five minutes later, I was getting some bananas, and guess who showed up, waving his phone. “Hey, can you say hello to Doris? I told her you were here, and she LOVES you. Oh, dang it, we got disconnected.” I expressed my regret, and my hope that I might catch her next time.
I was finishing up in the bread aisle, when he approached me again, and gave me a big man-hug topped off by a kiss on the cheek. “That’s from Doris,” he said. “She told me to give you a hug and a kiss from her!”
That’s when I realized I had forgotten to wear my ball cap. I’ll do that in a store when I’m in a hurry, to reduce my chances of being recognized.
Next time, I’ll remember. Otherwise, Doris herself might knock over some Coke bottles trying to run me down, and they’ll be calling for a clean-up on Aisle 3.
