Mistaken Celebrity
I have the type of face that reminds people of somebody else; can’t tell you how many times someone has come up to me and said that I was a dead ringer for their brother, father, uncle, cousin, dog, ex-boyfriend. I figure I was cut from a common mold and God gave everyone else distinguishing features.

A few years back I went to a conference in Las Vegas and was waiting in the terminal for the flight back home. In my line of work, I can usually dress how I want so I was a black button-up shirt, tight jeans and harness boots. My hair was shoulder length and curly. Since it was a conference, I dressed it up with a black blazer. I had also just bought a bunch of American Indian jewelry so had some new necklaces, rings and bracelets that I was going to distribute on my return home, but that I didn’t want stolen from luggage.

So there I am in the endless tide that is the McCarran airport alternating between reading my book, standing, walking around and being generally bored. Up sidles a 50-something lady with short purplish-brown hair and large behind who plops herself down in the seat across from me. I look up, smile politely and she says, “You’re not who I think you are, are you?” Somewhat bemused, I replied, “No, I must be someone else.” She giggles as if we’re sharing a private joke and says, “I bet you have to tell people that all the time!” Now, initially, I figgered she thought I looked like a relation, but given her wink-wink, nudge-nudge attitude, I realized she thought I was someone well-known. So, in a moment of bad decision making, I play along: I’m bored, she looks harmless, what can it hurt?

So I say, “Well, you know how airports are, a person can never get a moment’s peace.” She looked at me knowingly as she empathized, “It must be terrible to have such inconsiderate people not allow you to even relax a moment.” “Yes”, I reply. She then goes on about how she loves Vegas, loves to go to the shows, but really wishes that I would’ve been on while she was in Vegas. “You’re not playing here, are you?”, “No”. “I thought so,” she continues, “because I would have been the first one in line. My girlfriends just love your music and my husband even liked that special you did over Christmas.” Oh crap, this is uncomfortable I’m thinking and start looking around for an escape hatch! She notices and says, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” “Good because I’m really not who you think I am.” She giggles, fake smacks me with her magazine and says, “Oh you!” Groan. She chats about herself and family and how she loves to come to Vegas and meet people that she would only otherwise see on TV and find out that they’re just as normal as everyone else. Although I did not affirmatively bear false witness, I am silently pleading for forgiveness for not quickly correcting my batty new friend.

Now people within earshot are pretending not to listen, but quickly look away as I furtively glance around in utter embarrassment and fear that somehow I’ll be blamed for this woman mistaking my identity. This only makes it worse. I excuse myself to use the restroom and when I return, I see her a few rows over chatting with several people. I think, good, now I can lay low. It was not to be. I had just enough time to read a few pages in my novel when she trundles over with another lady and she says, “We just wanted to say hi.” “Good afternoon ladies,” I reply, putting on my most diplomatic smile. First lady turns to her friend and says, “He says he is absolutely not famous, and that he would tell us if he was.” For some reason this causes great fits of laughter, and people around us are starting to look at us. In my mind I am regretting not simply saying “piss off!” in the first instance. Then lady says to friend, “Can you take a photo of me and this totally anonymous stranger? Hee hee, hee hee.” It gets worse when she says, “This is only for me, and to prove to people back home that I wasn’t lying.”

So photos are taken, friend wants her turn, more giggling, bystanders are staring and whispering. I am trying to be gracious, saying few words, like “hello”, “yes, I end up travelling a lot”, “No, I haven’t met Simon Cowell, but I’m sure he’s nice”, “I prefer the Beta 58 to the SM58, just personal preference”, etc. I turn down a request for an autograph from one of the five or so people who have scooched closer and my batty friend whispers loudly, “He’s trying to keep a low profile!” I heard things like, “He’s so down to earth,” “He’s just like he seems on television,” “I liked him before he was really popular,” and the like.

My flight was called and because I had enough frequent flyer miles, they automatically bumped me up to First Class, which only convinced these people that they were absolutely right about me.

The lie? As I said my goodbyes and walked away I heard batty new friend tell her admiring throng, “He is the nicest guy. My husband and I met him last night at the Bellagio and he bought us really expensive champagne and we traded email addresses. You should have seen the two gorgeous ladies he was with.”

To this day, I still have no clue who I was supposed to be, but if someone shows you a photo of some “famous” person they met in Vegas and he looks slightly nauseous through his smile, it just might be me.
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 20:38, 14 replies)

best part of this
is the still not knowing who they thought you were.
(FootOfTim, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 20:53, closed)

^This
...and click
( MacCruiskeen, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 22:16, closed)

Las Vegas?
Christmas special? Shoulder length curly hair? Elvis innit.
(electricteeth, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 21:11, closed)

I never thought of it that way - what if they thought I was some mong celebrity?
I take some solace in the fact that Russell Brand and Howard Donald aren't that well known in the US. But what if they thought I was Mr. Bean?
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 21:31, closed)

I CALL
ENGELBERT HUMPERDINCK!
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 22:43, closed)

Well, at least you didn't assume Shane MacGowan, Clint Howard or Marty Feldman

( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 0:44, closed)

I reckon
They were having you on. They just made it all up cos they were completely bored. Probably exploded into fits of laughter after you left.
(russet_gusset up the reds, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 22:19, closed)

If they were, that makes it extra creepy and their photographs likely stole my soul.

( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 22:35, closed)

You are Jim Morrison...
... and I claim my five pounds, Mr Mojo Risin'
(gordonjcp, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 9:03, closed)

This is brilliant
I'd have been really curious who they thought I was!
( sanityclause is waiting until, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 11:03, closed)

Super!
I like this on many, many wonderful levels.


Click
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 14:15, closed)

Click.
But only if you sign your autograph on my chest.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 14:46, closed)

I'd be happy to. Just tell me whose name you'd like me to sign.

( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 21:17, closed)

it's better that you didn't know
i once got mistaken for jo brand.
pissed me right off.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 19:39, closed)