Almost famous

That awkward moment you’re walking across the parking lot to your car and you are greeted by name — by a complete stranger wearing a hat and sunglasses.

“Zero, is it?”

Well, life has suddenly gotten interesting.

I stop walking and nod, “Yup.”

No idea who this is. Maybe he’s an assassin from the future sent back in time to kill me. Doesn’t look like an assassin though. At least not one from the future.

That’s no fun.

Maybe he’s a secret agent.

“Is that a nickname?”

See? Now he’s prying for information.

“No. It’s my name name.”
“That’s sick, man!”

Well, if he’s a secret agent, he knows how to butter me up. I’m only a couple compliments away from giving him Colonel Sanders secret recipe.

“Thanks.”
“Bad.ass.”

Wait. Is he just messing with me now?

“Well, it wasn’t so bad ass growing up,” I say, “But it’s better now.”
“It’s awesome, dude.”

He sounds sincere. I’m pretty sure he’s not a secret agent after all.

Maybe he’s a fan? I don’t really have fans, but maybe he doesn’t know that.

“Thanks. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Mike.”

Mike? Who’s Mike? Mike Tyson? He doesn’t look like Mike Tyson. And I don’t know of any other Mikes. What’s Brad Pitt’s first name? I’m pretty sure it’s not Mike.

While I’m standing there having a delightful mental conversation with myself, Mike pulls his name tag out of his pocket.

As you might expect, it says, “MIKE”. Which is good. It means Mike wasn’t lying.

But using my incredible investigation skills, I note the other important thing on the name tag.

The logo of the cafe I just exited.

Turns out Mike looks a lot different in a hat and sunglasses and out of uniform.

For a minute there, I almost thought I got famous.

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