Sunday, February 19, 2017
Events often preceding a sick day
The clever and talented actor George Clooney and I are out at a local coffee house getting a couple of cappuccinos. Correction, I am getting a cappuccino.
"How can you drink one of those in the afternoon?" George asks as he gets an espresso.
"You've gone native." I reply. I have been in Italy enough to know that cappuccino is only for breakfast. I also know that I will never be anything other than a tourist in Italy, so I might as well drink what I like. If I'm a really good tourist I am mistaken for a French tourist. George spends a third of the year at his Villa on Lake Como and is in a whole other realm of Italianess.
"Eh." He says. "I'm too famous to become Italian. I think the chef we have at the house has brainwashed me. This isn't bad." He adds, sipping his espresso.
I'm glad he likes it. I took him to the best cafe we have in the twin cities for coffee, instead of to the second best one, the one with better seating, because I had a feeling this might be important.
"How's the blog going?" He asked.
"I'm writing it right now." I reply.
"It should have more readers." He says.
"Eh." I say. Everyone's so concerned. "I'm happy with my seventeen readers." I add. "Quality over quantity."
"I'm touched." He says. He's a regular reader. It's how I know him. Though he wasn't necessarily who I was thinking of when I said that.
"You know." He starts to say reluctantly. "Vanity Fair wants to do a cover/interview piece on me and I can pick the writer. It can be you, and I can talk a lot about clerkmanifesto in it."
"It'll give them more to edit out then. I think you've been famous so long you live in a fantasy world George."
This upsets him. "I live in a fantasy world? I live in a fantasy world! I live in a fantasy world!!" He gestures so much he knocks over his espresso. Fortunately it's empty.
I regard him calmly for a moment. And I'm thinking: I'm sick of working at the library. I'm sick of my ridiculous and suffocating managers, the endlessly repeating work, even my co-workers are wearing me out. How can it hurt to see where the Vanity Fair thing leads.
"Fine." I say to George. "Set it up. Let's see what happens."
But George Clooney is gone. There's just a young man standing before me with a slightly concerned look on his face.
"Can I get a library card?" He asks.
I look at him confusedly for a moment, then I collect my wits. "Sure." I say. "Sure."