"DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM???"

originally posted @ http://scottmartinbrooks.blogspot.com

Anyone who knows me, knows i never gave a crap about fame, or any of the pomp & circumstance that came along with it. But...there have been a few situations where it made things quite interesting...

Part 1; Snooty Boutique Girl

So, I’m in LA working on some TV show. On this particular afternoon I’ve got some time to kill. I head over to the beverly center (that’s the huge mall right on the border of beverly hills). I wander into a little boutique that sells trendy women’s stuff, figuring I’ll buy my (then) girlfriend a couple things. Now, I will be the first to admit, I do not look like your “typical” beverly center patron. I was very…shall we say…casual. (ie; my usual…as my friends back home in philly know all too well) So, I’m browsing around the boutique, and the very cute & stylish little puerto rican salesgirl is eyeing me up. But not in the good way. Eventually she comes from behind the counter and starts keeping a closer eye on me, while pretending to straighten clothes on the rack, etc. I notice, but say nothing. I’m used to it. But then, she takes it up a notch…she comes up to me, as I’m looking at a shirt…one of those tie-dye wifebeaters with “bitch” written on the front in rhinestones, which were all the rage at that time…and she says; “that’s $175.” I turn to her and say; “uh, ok…” with that I-did’nt-ask-you-the-price look on my face/tone in my voice. Then, this little bitch has the nerve to follow up by saying; “you know, we have a no cash return policy here. So, you can’t return any items for cash.” As if i was gonna steal it then try to return it for cash (or worse, my big triflin’ ass was gonna wear it, stretch it out, then try to return it!!!) Ok…now I’m officially pissed. I’ve got my mouth open, ready to blast her with a salvo of very nasty words, when, as if on cue, this stylish young puerto rican chap comes bounding into the store, carrying bags of food. He sees me and immediately erupts with a big “WHASSUUUUUP!!!” ...the girl looks at him, utterly confused. Then he starts gushing to the salesgirl; “oh my god, you don’t know who this is??? This is ‘dookie’, the whassup guy, from the commercials!!!” He starts telling me what big fan he is, how much he loves the commercials, asking all kinds of questions, yadda yadda yadda. As he’s talking, he’s walking behind the counter…it dawns on me; he works there and was just returning from lunch. So now you see the look of realization slowly creep across the girls face, and her snooty attitude quickly flips to ass-kissing. (I’m still not sure if she knew who I was, or if she was just responding to the fact I was obviously someone famous) Now she’s all too happy to wait on me, asking if there’s anything she can do for me. (the dude was funny, he was giving her the “get over there” wave of the hand while admonishing her “go help the gentleman out!”) I told her I liked the wifebeaters but was’nt sure what size my girl would need. She asks; “what size is she? Is she about my size?” , as she steps back and poses. I look her up & down and say; “hm…yeah, she is…except your boobs are much smaller.” Yes, I was intentionally trying to be a bit dickish. For a moment she paused and blinked, then shook it off and started making suggestions about what size I should get. “I don’t know…I’d need to see it on…why don’t you try it on for me.” Now, to this day, I have NO idea where this stroke of asshole genius came from, but, it worked. She smiled, said; “ok!” and skittered over to the dressing room. The guy gave me a big smile and thumbs up, as he slurped his chinese noodles. She came back with the shirt on, I gave her the finger gesture to spin around, and I studied the shirt like it was a friggin’ physics equation. I told her I was’nt quite sure, and gave her the pink one to try on, which she did... Then the blue one... If I remember correctly, I had her try on about 5 shirts. Eventually, I figured she’d done her penance. I ended up buying 2 shirts and a really cool belt…for somewhere around $500. I only mention that because, even though I had tons of dough, coming from a modest, middle-class background, it never ceased to amaze me how much money things cost in that world. And I left the store, like caesar, triumphant, as the two of them smiled & waved goodbye. (yeah, I know, it would’ve made a way better ending if, after her making do all that work, I had walked out and not bought anything…but, I did’nt have the heart to be THAT big a dick, plus I knew my girl would really love those shirts)

Part 2: Snubbed Then Redeemed at Morton’s

We’re in LA. Paul wants to go out for dinner. I meet him in the lobby of our hotel, along with his uncle who’s visitng, and the 3 of us drive around, scouting restaurants. After passing up about a dozen, finally we settle on morton’s in beverly hills. Now, I had a couple buddies back home who worked at the morton’s in downtown philly, but I had never been, and I did’nt know anything about it, only that it was fancy. I did’nt even know it was a chain, til that night. Paul’s uncle, being an older gentleman, was dressed “business casual.” Paul and I looked like we had just come back from the jersey boardwalk…we’re both in cargo shorts, paul’s got on sandals, I’ve got on a tank top. By now, he and I were so used to getting in places without anyone batting an eye, that we stopped thinking about our attire. We walk into the lobby, there’s a tall, blonde, beautiful hostess at the podium. She, literally, looked us up and down, then, very graciously, said; “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ll be able to seat anymore customers tonight.” It was about 8pm. Paul cranes his neck over and peers into the main dining area, then says; “um, I can see several empty booths from here.” She smiles and says; “yes, I’m sure, but, I just don’t think we’ll be able to accommodate anyone else this evening.” Paul’s gets heated. I’m thinking to myself; “typical.” Paul’s uncle says; “let me talk to her”, walks up to the podium and tries to politely reason with the young lady, but she is obviously not budging. Just as he’s doing that, some folks are departing the restaurant, passing us on their way out the door. One of them is a guy and his companion…she’s a tall, gorgeous, typical LA blonde in a “little black dress”, he’s kind of a stocky version of david cross in a very expensive black suit (you can just tell). As he walks by, he sees me and does a double-take, then yells (really loud) “WHASSUUUP!!!” He’s REALLY excited to see me, and he’s got one of those voices that blares like a megaphone. He starts gushing; “Hey Hey! My man! I love you guys! Where’re your boys? What are you doing here? I heard you got a TV deal! I’m a huge fan! I’m gonna look for you guys on TV! Good luck to you!” …it was like a tornado…he hit out of nowhere, caused a lot of uproar, then was gone. When he first recognized me, my first instinct was to look over at the hostess…I saw her head pop up like a deer at a watering hole when it hears twigs snapping. After he left, I looked at her again…now there’s a tall gentleman, thick head of dark hair and full beard, in a tuxedo, talking quietly to her, both of them looking directly at us. He walks away from her, walks over to paul and I, leans in and quietly says; “I think we’ll be able to accommodate you this evening, please, follow me.” Paul and I give each other the “you’re damn right” look, and follow him. (now here's the thing; all that hostess had to do was tell us they had a dress code and we were in violation, but, she did'nt...that, combined with the fact that they eventually let us in tells me it was'nt a dress code thing...it was that "other" code...*wink wink*) He leads us to the bar/lounge in a room adjacent to the dining area, walks passed the bar, and goes to a section that’s cordoned off with velvet ropes, lifts the ropes and seats us. He asks us what we want to drink, then goes behind the bar and has the bartender make our drinks, then brings them back to us himself. Then he tells us; “my name is gabriel, I am the maitre d’, give me 20 minutes and I will have a table for you.” We thank him, and he’s off. We sit back and enjoy our drinks, very impressed with ourselves. We finish our drinks, and I volunteer to go to the bar and get fresh ones. Morton’s bar/lounge is obviously a hot spot, because the place is packed, and the bar was at least 3 people deep. I begin wriggling my way closer to the bar so I can order, and in doing so, I brush against a little, old, joan-rivers-looking lady, decked out in her fanciest going-out ensemble. And when I say I brushed her, that’s all I did, I didn’t bump her or jostle her in any way. Well, her head snaps around, she gives me the quick up & down, then recoils in disgust with a frown and lets out an extremely dramatic huff, like one of those hoity-toity old cows in a 3 stooges short. it was SO over the top and cartoonish, I actually laughed at her, I could’nt even be mad. I got our drinks and went back to our vip section. Gabriel walks by, looks down and sees the fresh drinks and asks where we got them. When I told him I went to the bar, he gently admonished me; “if you need anything, you come to me, I will get it for you.” We assured him such hand & foot treatment was not necessary, but he insisted. True to his word, only 15 minutes had gone by when he came to get us and took us to a booth. I was genuinely amused as he lead us through the dining area…everyone looked up as we came in, and their reactions broke down into 2 camps; the ones who smiled with recognition, and the ones who gave us looks like the old lady at the bar. We sat in our booth, ordered steaks, laughed & talked, and had a grand ol’ time. Gabriel became our new best friend, we even made him sit and talk with us. We went to morton’s at least 3 or 4 more times over the next couple years, and we always asked for our boy gabriel when we got to the door. Not for the celebrity treatment, but because he turned out to be a genuinely cool dude. (then again, guys say that about strippers; "i think she really likes me"...everybody's your bff when you're tipping)

You Never Know Who You're F'ing With...

original post @ http://scottmartinbrooks.blogspot.com

...whenever we used to make high profile appearances in major cities, we were always joined by the budweiser exec in charge of our campaign, walter allen, and sometimes one or two others. and whenever the bud execs accompanied us to an event, that night they would always take us to dinner at the finest steakhouse restaurant in town. on this particular occasion, we were in indainapolis for the final four. (sidenote; those people REALLY take their college basketball seriously...wow...) so, after the day's festivities, we all get together for dinner. joining us for dinner this evening, as he'd done on a couple of occasions, is espn commentator stuart scott (who is a VERY cool dude, by the way). i don't remember the name of the joint, but, we were seated in one of the semi-private dining areas in the back. at some point during dinner, a fellow and a young boy walk up to the table, obviously a father & son...the dad looked to be in his mid 30's or so, the boy was no more than 10. i was sitting at the end of the table, so, the dad approaches me and says...that one phrase i heard SO often it began to lose all meaning and eventually just seemed ridiculous; "i really hate to bother you, but..." before he can even finish, i SLAM my hand on the table so hard all of the tableware jingles, and i shout; "DAMNNIT! DON'T YOU SEE I'M EATING MY DINNER???!!!" with an exasperated look on face, but not looking directly at them, my head was just turned toward them. they both jump, startled, and the dad immediately apologizes and turns to walk away, clutching his son by the shoulders. i reach out and grab his arm and tell him; "i'm just messin' with you!", with a big smile on my face. (what made it even funnier was; everybody at my table looked up, kinda smiled, but then, went right back to their conversations, because they kinda knew i was messin' with the dude) he lets out a sigh of relief and says; "i thought you were serious, and you're pretty big, i did'nt wanna get my butt kicked!" he tells me that his son is our biggest fan, then tells his son; "go ahead, ask him." the boy was SO CUTE...he was very nervous, gulping and taking deep breaths as he tried to get out his story. his dad helped him out, and explained how the kid held his cell phone up to the TV and recorded our commercial as his outgoing message (yeah, the 10 year old had a cell phone). the boy asked if we would do an actual personal message for his voicemail. i said; "absolutely!" he got one of those grins on his face where he was trying not to grin, know what i mean? he even gave me some direction on how he wanted us to say it, but innocently, humbly, not bratty or presumptuous in the least. as he dialed his voicemail, i turned to the guys and told them to huddle up so we could do a msg. for the kid, to which they happily obliged, as they always did. so, we made him a personalized message for his voicemail, just the way he wanted it, and you could see that he was so stoked he was about to burst. his dad had one of those looks on his face, you could tell he was really happy for his son. the dad said to me; "he is going to be the hero at his school on monday. thank you so much!" i gave him the "oh, pshaw", we shook hands, i said goodbye to junior, and they went back to their table.

...well, it's later, and the meal's over. the guys are having cigars & brandy, i'm eating desert, so, walter asks for the check. the waiter informs him that dinner has been paid for. we all look up with a "huh?" look on our faces. there were 5 of us, it was a 5 star restaurant, and we ate A LOT. (if i remember correctly, it was well over $700) just a little incredulous, and a teeny bit suspicious, walter wants to know who it was that paid. the waiter, for some reason, was reluctant to tell him. walter insisted; "i'm not going to say anything to him, i would just like to know...maybe i'll buy him a bottle of wine or something." the waiter says; "oh, you don't need to do that, this guy can afford it, trust me." undaunted, walter again insists, he wants to know who paid our check, he wants to meet the person and thank them. the waiter, still reluctant, obliges walter's insistence, and walks away...then comes back a minute later with our generous benefactor, who was walking behind the waiter with an embarrassed smile on his face. yup...it was the dad from earlier. we see it's him and we all erupt with a spontaneous; "OOOOH!!! IT'S YOU!!!" he said he did'nt want to make a big deal out of it or anything, he just really appreciated what we did for his son and wanted to return the favor. walter said to him; "dude, that's too much...you have to let me give you something for it..." i said; "yeah, we don't get paid THAT much just do a whassup!" the guy was extremely gracious, refused all of walter's offers, kindly said his goodbyes and excused himself back to his table. we were all stunned. walter asked our waiter; "so, who is he that he's got money like that?" the waiter tells us; "have you guys seen the signs all over town for the big construction company? when you were at the game today, did you see their name all over the stadium? well, that's his family." and i said; "see...you never know who you're f*ckin' with." ...hence the title of this story.

*bonus story: speaking of which... for the superbowl in tampa fl., budweiser had a huge tent set up in the tailgate area, with all kinds of budweiser stuff to do & see. and since we could'nt do any promoting at the game/stadium (because some other major brand had the rights on lockdown), they just had us mingling in the tent before the game. at some point, we took a lunch break (i remember we had'nt eaten and were starving). i had just started coming down with the flu, so i was feeling pretty crappy. i got my plate, found a solitary spot somewhere in a corner, with my back to all the festivities, and sat down to enjoy my lunch in peace. a few bites into my chicken, i feel that ol' familiar tap on my shoulder. i turn and see a dude, with a piece of paper and a sharpie. he says; "i don't mean to bother you, but..." i interrupt him and say, in a very brusk, smartass tone; "yes you do...you totally mean to bother me." the guy paused, thought about it for a couple seconds, then, very matter-of-factly said; "you're right...i do", and held out his paper & sharpie. we both laughed. "at least you're honest!" i said, and happily signed his autograph. he did'nt turn out to be anybody rich or famous, i just thought he was funny.