Brush with Fame

So, yesterday, yeah? We're in downtown Atlanta -- my husband and I, my parents, West and Hannah -- and we're cussing our way through traffic trying to figure out where the Cobb Theater is, 'cause we're going to see Eddie Izzard perform there in a couple of hours. We take a turn that we think will get us there, and it's the wrong turn, of course (because in Atlanta, two wrongs don't make a right, but they are pre-requisite). We find ourselves in this swanky brick-paved parking complex for some nice hotel. And as we're looking for a place to turn around, West points out this guy standing off the road a ways on this grassy knoll with a soccer ball, putting his shirt on.

West: Wow, um, that guy kinda looks like Eddie Izzard.

Hannah: What guy?

W: That guy.

H: Whoa, yeah, he does kinda look like Eddie Izzard.

Liz: The guy with his shirt over his head? Somehow, he really does...even with his shirt over his head.

W, H, L (unison): We should turn around.

*This falls on deaf ears as Dad, who is driving, continues to concentrate on cussing through traffic, as well he should. We shortly turn into a lane that ends up being the exit for a parking deck, so we back all the way out of said lane with a car following us face-to-face, presumably exiting the parking deck. When the smoke clears, we're going the way we came. And Mystery Man is crossing the street beside us.*

Mom: He was wearing a yellow shirt like the landscaping crew up the hill. He's probably with them.

Chris: There he is. He's crossing the street.

L: Holy shit. It's him. It's him. Holy shit.

W: Stop. The car.

Okay, so some stuff went down before West and Hannah jumped out of the car to try and catch up with Mr. Izzard. But it mostly involved me learning things about myself, namely, that any illusions I might've had about staying cool in the face of fame are...inaccurate. At least we didn't react as badly as the car behind us -- also headed to the concert, also lost -- who were slowing down to ask the nice pedestrian crossing in front of them for directions, and upon realizing who he was, accidentally hit the gas instead of the brake. No wonder he hurried off.

So West and Hannah jump out and try to catch him to invite him to have dinner with us. Because that's what we do for celebrities here in the South. We run you over, chase you down on foot, and invite you for a Frisco Melt at the Steak 'N Shake. Unfortunately, he'd disappeared into the hotel before they could catch up to him. Who knows if that was really his hotel or if he just popped in to call 911.