DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

It’s been ten days since I ran into Tom Waits at the coffee shop. My life has not changed in any way I can discern. Nonetheless, I’ve prepared this interview with myself regarding the event, so I’m ready when the magazines come calling.

Interviewer: So I understand you ran into Tom Waits the other morning at the coffee shop.
Me: Yes.

<seconds pass>

Interviewer: Ahh, can you tell us about it?
Me: Sure. I was at the coffee shop, and I ran into Tom Waits.

<seconds pass>

Interviewer: OK, well, what happened? What did you say?
Me: Oh, I asked if I could have a glass of water.

Interviewer: You asked Tom Waits to pour you a glass of water?!
Me: No, no, no. I asked the waitress for a glass of water. Tom Waits was just standing right there. I didn’t even really look at him.

Interviewer: How did you know it was Tom Waits then?
Me: He broke into song actually. Spontaneously leapt right into Downtown Train. Unbelievable voice.

Interviewer: Really?! He just lit into a tune right there in the coffee shop?
Me: Heh, no, not really. He just stood there. I actually thought he was yet-another contractor guy. Those Grizzly Adams-lookin’, toolbelt-and-baseball-cap guys pretty much own this town.

Interviewer: You’re telling me Tom Waits was wearing a toolbelt and a baseball cap?
Me: No, but he seemed like a local, whether or not he was about to go tile someone’s bathroom after breakfast.

Interviewer: OK. But let me get this straight. You saw Tom Waits at a coffee shop, thought enough of it to arrange this interview, and yet you didn’t actually speak to him at all.
Me: Didn’t make eye contact, even.

Interviewer: Why not?
Me: Well, at the back of my mind was the idea that celebrities who live in small towns enjoy that the locals tend not to hound them. Perhaps that’s even why the celebrity folks moved to the small town in the first place. As a solution, this doesn’t scale, of course; once the density of celebrities passes a certain point, the small town will also attract paparazzi, swarming like maggots to last week’s beef.

Interviewer: I see.
Me: Also there was the issue that I was dressed, at the time of this encounter, embarassingly like Mr. Rogers.

Interviewer: Gad. Light pants, tennis shoes, cardigan sweater?
Me: The whole bit.

Interview: Tie?
Me: No tie.

Interviewer: Whew — close call.
Me: I felt lots better for it.

Interviewer: Well, this begins to make more sense. I’m surprised you even left the house, looking like that.
Me: I was meeting friends for breakfast, and they don’t seem to mind how I dress. At least, they don’t comment on it… not while I’m there, anyway.

Interviewer: So what would you have said to Tom Waits, had you decided to brave certain ridicule and approach him?
Me: I think I’d have complimented him for his riveting performance as the taxi driver in Escape from New York.

Interviewer: Err, what? Tom Waits wasn’t in that movie. That was Ernest Borgnine!
Me: Damn, it’s a good thing I didn’t say anything then!

Interviewer: You’re thinking of the taxi driver, the Ghost of Christmas Past, in Scrooged.
Me: Was Waits in that movie?

Interviewer: No, not at all, but at least David Johansen looks vaguely like Tom Waits.

<seconds pass>

Interviewer: Time for one last question?
Me (checking my watch): A quick one.

Interviewer: Do you still dress like Mr. Rogers?
Me: Yes, absolutely.