This was during my bohemian phase, and I spent a year holed up in my apartment writing a book. One morning, I went to my usual spot for coffee, and while standing at the counter, waiting to place my order, saw a woman paying for hers. This woman was incredibly familiar. Where had I seen her before. I started wracking my brain--which job did I meet her on? Which party, which office--where?
The girl behind the counter came fawning over with a latte and a muffin. She was smiling one of the most asskissing smiles I'd ever seen. "Here's your order MS. SARANDON!"
Sarandon, I thought. Sarandon... that names familiar--did I know a Sarandon at Fidelity? D'oh!
Realizing that I was in the presence of my arch nemesis (only she didn't know it) I looked back at her. Sure enough, it was her. Ms. Janet Weiss herself. She stayed at the counter, chatting away at the fawning staff, while a lackey rang up my order and handed me my coffee without the special service or obsequiousness. I went to the condiment station and began doctoring my coffee, while Susan Sarandon continued to soak up the adoration of the coffee shop staff.
I was done with fixing my coffee, and was HALFWAY out the door when someone hammered past me, shoving me into the frame of the door, and knocking the lid off of my coffee, spilling it all over the front of my clothes, arm, and hand.
It was Susan Sarandon (who towers over me, actually--she's about 5'8" I think.) without so much as a sorry, excuse me, etc. She just continued on down the street, sipping her latte and snacking on her muffin top.
I turned back to look at the staff, who'd witnessed the entire thing. Three Gen X hipsters, smiling and tittering about their encounter with greatness. When I asked if they'd seen what had just happened, one shrugged limply and offered up, "well, she's a very busy woman."
I considered walking behind her on my way to the post office and singing my medly of Rocky Horror songs, but figured I'd either get arrested or just end up looking like a jackass.