I love messing with peoples' heads...
One of our local "celebrities" is this guy: www.pagewilson.com/ I saw him perform at a local bar with his band, and during one song I walked in from the outside through a door behind the band to get another beer- and got a very dirty look from Mr. Wilson. During the break he hunted me down and asked if I had paid the cover to get in. When I assured him that I had, and that I had only used that door because the other one was blocked by drunken rednecks, he laughed and clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to spill some of my beer and kept walking.

He's actually a pretty decent guy and a fairly talented musician- but he does have a rather large ego and a somewhat overinflated sense of himself sometimes. Add to this that when he starts drinking his voice reaches stentorian levels a la Teh Blessed, and he sometimes tends to stand out.

And so it was one evening when I was out with the woman I was dating at the time and a friend of mine. We had gone to a restaurant which features a sunken patio on the street side and another patio behind the building, and as we were going in I heard a huge booming voice laughing and telling stories at a frightening volume coming from the front patio. Even sitting out back I could hear him above the rest of the patrons.

Before we left, my companions went to the bathroom so I was waiting at the end of the bar for them to emerge when Page himself walked up to pay his bill. It wasn't until that moment that I recognized him, but instantly I had an idea.

"PAGE!" I cried out, and pumped his hand. "How the hell have you been, man? It's been forever since we hung out! Where the hell have you been, anyway?"

"Oh, I been busy, ya know how it is," he replied with a smile, although I could see a puzzled frown behind his eyes.

"Well shit, man, we gotta get together again! I still owe you that beer- I'd hang out now, but I gotta take my girlfriend to a show. Damn, don't be such a stranger, all right? Gimme a call sometime!"

"Sure, man! I'll call ya this week!"

At that point my companions had emerged from the bathrooms, so we all went outside. My friend turned to me and asked, "What the hell was all that about?"

I chuckled. "That poor bastard is gonna be scratching his head for the rest of the night trying to figure out who the hell I am..."
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 1 Jun 2007, 22:29, Reply)