Me Talk Scary SomedayOn Monday, Mary, one of my derby teammates sent me an email informing me that she wouldn't be at practice because she had just been given two free tickets to see David Sedaris at the Cannon Center. I immediately responded, "Who gets the second ticket?"
She said she had already asked her boyfriend to go, but she could try and get another ticket.
"Get two," I typed.
A few minutes later she called to say that she had indeed gotten two more tickets. I immediately emailed our coach and told her I wouldn't be at practice either and got on the horn to see if I could possibly get Warren home from Missouri.
My coach told Mary and I that we could only have an excused absence from practice if we returned from the show with a piece of David Sedaris, even if it was just a toenail. Warren said there was no way he could make it back to be my date.
Mary and I made a verbal pinky swear to retrieve a toenail and I set about getting a backup date. I emailed my comrades in arms, RJA, Kristy, and Andria to see who wanted to escort me. RJA was the first to reply, then Kristy, then Andria.
I've never felt so popular.
In the end, neither RJA or Kristy could justify feeding their four kids benadryl for dinner and abandoning them with the other parent on a school night, so Andria got to be my date.
As we entered the Cannon Center and got lost in a sea of whitebread intellectual types like ourselves, I turned to Mary and said, "Give me my ticket in case we get separated."
"No," she said with a laugh.
"Okay..." I said, "Then I guess you better come pee with me."
Once we had all freshened up and set off to find our seats, it soon became clear why Mary was being so tight lipped about the tickets.
WE HAD FRONT ROW CENTER SEATS!
That's right folks. David Sedaris and his podium were about 20 feet from me.
The show was completely brilliant as expected. I both felt totally dwarfed by his writing and lifted by his success. I mean here was a dude just reading his essays to a room full of people who forked over $35-$100 per seat. Pretty damn amazing.
When the show was over and Sedaris left the stage, I turned to Mary and said, "Look he left his water glass on stage! Let's get it for the coach."
She looked on in horror as I quickly mounted the stage, grabbed his glass and water bottle, and then nailed my landing back on the orchestra floor.
"Oh my god!" my companions yelled between their hysterical laughter.
In the foyer I scoped out the book signing line to see if I could stand to wait in it for a chance to actually speak to Mr. Sedaris. It was about a hundrd miles long and my babysitter was going to turn into a pumpkin soon. "Oh well," I said.
Mary ran off to the facilities as Andria, Michael, and I chatted. As she made her way back, I noticed Justin Willingham (a local NPR announcer) escorting a very small man through the lobby. Without thinking twice, I walked over to join them.
"Hi Mr. Sedaris," I said. "I just jumped on stage and grabbed your drinking glass because my roller derby coach said the only way I could miss practice was if I brought her something with your bodily fluids on it. Or a toenail."
He looked at me stunned and said, "Oh you don't want my toenail."
"Can you sign the glass?" I asked hopefully.
"I can at the table," he said nervously.
I followed him and Justin Willingham past the hundreds of people lined up and watched as he delicately signed the glass and silently prayed for his life.
"Thank you very much," I said in my most un-psychotic voice.
I swear, sometimes I even amaze myself. Here's to you, Randi!
posted by Stacey Greenberg