From a young age, I have been helpless in the face of celebrity, but I didn't fully come to grips with it until last year when I encountered radio personality, and author of Redneck Nation, Michael Graham at Barnes and Noble, where I work. He was there in anticipation of a book signing, and I had recently been watching a lot of "Real Time with Bill Maher" on HBO, so I recognized him immediately from his repeated appearances on that excellent program.
I particularly remembered him speaking out against affirmative action, saying it was unfair for African American children to benefit from their minoriy status, while Asian American kids did not. He probably made his point marginally better than I just did, I have forgotten most of what he said. What I chiefly remember is the look on his face as cartoonist Aaron McGruder berated him, "Oh shut up, you don't care about the Asian kid. No, you don't, stop it! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT THE ASIAN KID."
So I recognized Mr. Graham, and when he spoke to me I didn't hear him, I was too busy thinking, "Shit, this guy is really tall. Way taller than on TV. Why is that?" Even though I despised him on television for what he said and stood for, in person I was overwhelmed merely by the recognition that I had once seen him on television.
Today at Barnes and Noble I was working at the customer service desk, only five minutes before my lunch break, when a swarthy, muscular man with a big Conan O'Brien style pompadour and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest approached the counter. He wanted a kids book of Native American folk stories.
So I took him into the kids department, and as I was helping him he told me more about why he needed it.
"I'm gonna read for my sister's class tomorrow. I wanted to sing, but they siad that wasn't what they wanted."
I raised my eyes a little bit at the idea of him singing I guess, because he felt like he had to explain further.
"I'm one of the Village People."
At first I thought he was making a joke; he seemed obviously to be homosexual, and maybe he was making a self-deprecating joke about how many stereotypes he fit. But then I realized he was serious.
"Wait, you're really one of the Village People?" I said, clearly taken aback.
"Yeah, I'm the Indian."
"Wow," I said, "that's awesome."
I helped him find a book, and I think he maybe enjoyed my wide-eyed reaction to his fame. I think my surprise might have seemed like a sudden wave of recognition. I think I might have seemed like a Village People fan.
He told me his real name, which is Phillipe, and to go to his website, for which I have already forgotten the address. I shook his hand and headed off to my break, once again bewildered by my response to a famous person I didn't give a shit about.
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