I was waiting at a red light when this guy walked up to me. He had a battered leather jacket, a couple of days stubble on his chin, and a fedora pulled down low so that his eyes were in its shadows. Looking back, I think that my first impression was probably: Here's a guy who's trying a little too hard to be hip. A little bit flaky maybe -- but no more so than a large portion of the people you meet in and around the French Quarter.
"Where's your stand?" he asked me.
"Oh, we don't have any particular place where we wait. We just kind of circulate, you know?"
"OK. Well I've got to run up to my room right now," he said pointing out a nearby hotel. "I'll be back out in 10 minutes. Maybe I'll see you around."
He walked away while I continued to wait for the light to change. As soon as he was gone, I regretted that it hadn't even occurred to me to try to nail down a time and place to meet him. Oh well, I thought, I can park outside the hotel for a few minutes and watch for him to come back out. Sometimes on the day shift, you can go a couple of hours without a single ride. There certainly wasn't any harm in waiting there for 10 or 15 minutes.
I sat watching the crowds on Canal St. for a time and forgot all about watching my watch. After what felt like 10 or 15 minutes had passed, I glanced at the time and decided I'd give him another 10 before moving on. Right about then he came walking out and climbed aboard as though he had been expecting me to be there.
"Where are we headed?" I asked.
"To a record store. Do you know of one? And do you mind if I smoke?"
"Yes, I know where there's a record store, and no, I don't mind at all if you smoke," I said.
"I'm an idiot," he remarked. "I quit once for two years then went back to it."
"Reminds me of that Mark Twain quote," I said. "Why do people say it's hard to quit smoking? I've quit at least 20 times." (Here's the precise quote.)
"So what's your name?" I asked.
"JC."
"JC? As in 'Jesus Christ'?"
"I LOVE HIM!" he said with a sudden intensity that struck me as totally out of character and yet deeply sincere.
"Wow! Me too!" This guy was winning me over. He clearly didn't belong to the evangelical subculture in which I was raised, but I couldn't help but be touched by the fact that he seemed to genuinely love Jesus.
As the conversation progressed I found myself liking him more and more. Still, having initially judged him to be a bit on the flaky side, I was finding scraps of evidence along the way to support that presupposition. You know how it goes, right? Once we've taken the trouble to erect a prejudice, it's easy enough to find building supplies to keep propping it up.
When he said that he was an actor and that he was in town because he had a part in a movie, there was even a shadow of doubt in my mind as to whether he was telling the truth. (Long before I started picking up passengers on my pedicab, I picked up a whole lot of hitchhikers in my car; you learn to be a little bit skeptical.) It was certainly plausible that he was here for a movie role given New Orleans' recent emergence as Hollywood South. (See here for an article about the movies currently being filmed in the Crescent City and here for another story from my blog about taking an actor for a ride on my rickshaw.)
Later he mentioned something about playing in Grey's Anatomy. I've never seen the show, but I knew enough to know that it is very popular. Still it didn't even cross my mind that JC was any kind of celebrity.
We pulled up at the record store, and he asked me to wait for him outside. After a while he came out to tell me that the clerk was preparing his purchases and that it would be few more minutes. He sat down in the back of the bike, and we chatted a bit.
"Record stores are shutting down left and right," he said. "It's a shame."
"Yeah," I agreed. "We all get our music online these days, which is nice and all. But sometimes I miss the feeling of holding a real record in my hands. I was talking to my daughter just this morning. She's 15 years old. I don't remember how it came up, but I asked her if she had ever seen a turntable before, and she said, 'Only on TV.' Can you believe it?"
"I know what you mean," he said. "I've got five kids. What's your daughter's name?"
"Lydia," I answered. "But she likes to go by Lyddie these days. I have a son too. His name is Luke."
"Luke! That's from the Bible, right? How does Lyddie spell her name?"
I spelled it out for him. I wonder now why it didn't occur to me to wonder then why he wanted to know. Anyway, he disappeared into the store again and reappeared a few minutes later with a cardboard box. "This is for your kids," he said. "It's a record player." He had written a little note on the top of the box: "Your dad says great things about you."
I'm sure I said thank you. I sure hope so anyway. The truth is I was so shocked that I don't even remember what I said. (JC, if you happen to read this, let me say it again just to be sure. Thank you! It was an amazing gift, and my kids loved it. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.)
JC had a couple more places he wanted to go. I hate to admit this, but I was starting to get a little bit nervous. Generally we let people pay us whatever they want for any ride under 20 minutes. If it's more than 20 minutes, our fare is a dollar a minute. I've learned from experience that often when people want you to take them around on errands and wait on them while they shop, they're not anticipating how much it's going to cost. We try to be upfront about it, but in this case I couldn't remember whether it had even come up. This guy had just jumped on board without even bothering to ask about the price.
I decided I had better broach the subject. Looking back, this was one time I wish I had let it go. After he had just bought a nice gift for my kids, it was pretty tasteless to say, "Are you planning to pay me?" Not that I had said it quite like that. I tried to be tactful. "I, um, just want to make sure we're on the same page. Because, umm, you know I've had misunderstandings in the past and stuff. So, you realize that anything over 20 minutes is a dollar a minute, right?"
"Yeah, that's fine," he said. "I'm not keeping track of the time, so you'll have to let me know how much I owe you at the end."
I took him to the pharmacy, which was the next place on his list, and he said, "OK, I think I'll just get out here, and I'm sure I can get around to the other places on my own. Thanks so much for the ride! How much do I owe you?"
At this point I was embarrassed at having made a big deal about the money, so I gave him a figure that was actually a bit low. He paid me what I asked, said goodbye, and we parted ways.
Later that day, I started feeling bad about the whole thing -- like I hadn't expressed proper appreciation. This was a genuinely nice guy who had just bought a wonderful gift for my kids, and maybe I had been a little bit rude to him. I started composing an open letter to him which I was going to post to the blog in hopes that he might stumble on it. I still didn't suspect in the least that he was a celebrity.
That night when I brought the box home for the kids to open it, I wondered how they would receive it. Would they see the point? After all, we don't have any vinyl records to play on it.
I needn't have worried. The kids were thrilled. When they pulled it out of the box, we all marveled at the beauty of the thing. It had a retro design -- kind of a 60s/70s feel to it, nothing like the ones that I remembered from my high school days when the phonograph was just about to be eclipsed. No glowing lights, no high tech controls. The whole thing was enclosed in a hard plastic red and tan case with the speakers built into the bottom. There were two knobs on the front: volume and tone.
I promised the kids that we would buy some vinyl albums.Mary suggested that it would be really cool to get some Christmas music to play on it. With its old-fashioned styling and bright red color, it actually looked kind of "Christmassy" somehow.
Later that evening, it occurred to me to go online and see if I could find JC. I went to a website that listed the cast and crew of Grey's Anatomy and glanced quickly through the list of the show's stars, pretty sure that I wouldn't find him there. And I didn't. No JC. No big surprise.
I checked out the list of "recurring roles" and didn't find him there either. Hmmm. I went back to the stars just to be sure I hadn't missed anything, and there he was! Justin Chambers. JC. Once I knew his full name, I started surfing the web for more information about him and quickly realized that the guy has some pretty impressive credits, even apart from Grey's Anatomy. (Here he is on Wikipedia, but the entry is a bit outdated. There are also several interesting interviews posted on YouTube.)
I've always considered myself above the whole celebrity obsession thing, but now I found myself starstruck. What about the box that the record player had come in? I had thrown it in the garage to be put out with the next day's garbage. It had his autograph on it with the note to my kids! I rushed out to rescue it.
Looking back, I'm glad that I got the chance to appreciate JC as a very cool, nice, generous, person before I found out he was famous. I would love to have the chance to hang out with him again. I would take him anywhere he wanted on my pedicab, and I wouldn't dream of mentioning money. Most of all, I would welcome the chance to show him how much I appreciate his thoughtfulness to my kids.
JC, if you're reading this, here's my prayer for you: May the Original JC, The King, bless your kids like you blessed mine!
"Where's your stand?" he asked me.
"Oh, we don't have any particular place where we wait. We just kind of circulate, you know?"
"OK. Well I've got to run up to my room right now," he said pointing out a nearby hotel. "I'll be back out in 10 minutes. Maybe I'll see you around."
He walked away while I continued to wait for the light to change. As soon as he was gone, I regretted that it hadn't even occurred to me to try to nail down a time and place to meet him. Oh well, I thought, I can park outside the hotel for a few minutes and watch for him to come back out. Sometimes on the day shift, you can go a couple of hours without a single ride. There certainly wasn't any harm in waiting there for 10 or 15 minutes.
I sat watching the crowds on Canal St. for a time and forgot all about watching my watch. After what felt like 10 or 15 minutes had passed, I glanced at the time and decided I'd give him another 10 before moving on. Right about then he came walking out and climbed aboard as though he had been expecting me to be there.
"Where are we headed?" I asked.
"To a record store. Do you know of one? And do you mind if I smoke?"
"Yes, I know where there's a record store, and no, I don't mind at all if you smoke," I said.
"I'm an idiot," he remarked. "I quit once for two years then went back to it."
"Reminds me of that Mark Twain quote," I said. "Why do people say it's hard to quit smoking? I've quit at least 20 times." (Here's the precise quote.)
"So what's your name?" I asked.
"JC."
"JC? As in 'Jesus Christ'?"
"I LOVE HIM!" he said with a sudden intensity that struck me as totally out of character and yet deeply sincere.
"Wow! Me too!" This guy was winning me over. He clearly didn't belong to the evangelical subculture in which I was raised, but I couldn't help but be touched by the fact that he seemed to genuinely love Jesus.
As the conversation progressed I found myself liking him more and more. Still, having initially judged him to be a bit on the flaky side, I was finding scraps of evidence along the way to support that presupposition. You know how it goes, right? Once we've taken the trouble to erect a prejudice, it's easy enough to find building supplies to keep propping it up.
When he said that he was an actor and that he was in town because he had a part in a movie, there was even a shadow of doubt in my mind as to whether he was telling the truth. (Long before I started picking up passengers on my pedicab, I picked up a whole lot of hitchhikers in my car; you learn to be a little bit skeptical.) It was certainly plausible that he was here for a movie role given New Orleans' recent emergence as Hollywood South. (See here for an article about the movies currently being filmed in the Crescent City and here for another story from my blog about taking an actor for a ride on my rickshaw.)
Later he mentioned something about playing in Grey's Anatomy. I've never seen the show, but I knew enough to know that it is very popular. Still it didn't even cross my mind that JC was any kind of celebrity.
We pulled up at the record store, and he asked me to wait for him outside. After a while he came out to tell me that the clerk was preparing his purchases and that it would be few more minutes. He sat down in the back of the bike, and we chatted a bit.
"Record stores are shutting down left and right," he said. "It's a shame."
"Yeah," I agreed. "We all get our music online these days, which is nice and all. But sometimes I miss the feeling of holding a real record in my hands. I was talking to my daughter just this morning. She's 15 years old. I don't remember how it came up, but I asked her if she had ever seen a turntable before, and she said, 'Only on TV.' Can you believe it?"
"I know what you mean," he said. "I've got five kids. What's your daughter's name?"
"Lydia," I answered. "But she likes to go by Lyddie these days. I have a son too. His name is Luke."
"Luke! That's from the Bible, right? How does Lyddie spell her name?"
I spelled it out for him. I wonder now why it didn't occur to me to wonder then why he wanted to know. Anyway, he disappeared into the store again and reappeared a few minutes later with a cardboard box. "This is for your kids," he said. "It's a record player." He had written a little note on the top of the box: "Your dad says great things about you."
I'm sure I said thank you. I sure hope so anyway. The truth is I was so shocked that I don't even remember what I said. (JC, if you happen to read this, let me say it again just to be sure. Thank you! It was an amazing gift, and my kids loved it. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.)
JC had a couple more places he wanted to go. I hate to admit this, but I was starting to get a little bit nervous. Generally we let people pay us whatever they want for any ride under 20 minutes. If it's more than 20 minutes, our fare is a dollar a minute. I've learned from experience that often when people want you to take them around on errands and wait on them while they shop, they're not anticipating how much it's going to cost. We try to be upfront about it, but in this case I couldn't remember whether it had even come up. This guy had just jumped on board without even bothering to ask about the price.
I decided I had better broach the subject. Looking back, this was one time I wish I had let it go. After he had just bought a nice gift for my kids, it was pretty tasteless to say, "Are you planning to pay me?" Not that I had said it quite like that. I tried to be tactful. "I, um, just want to make sure we're on the same page. Because, umm, you know I've had misunderstandings in the past and stuff. So, you realize that anything over 20 minutes is a dollar a minute, right?"
"Yeah, that's fine," he said. "I'm not keeping track of the time, so you'll have to let me know how much I owe you at the end."
I took him to the pharmacy, which was the next place on his list, and he said, "OK, I think I'll just get out here, and I'm sure I can get around to the other places on my own. Thanks so much for the ride! How much do I owe you?"
At this point I was embarrassed at having made a big deal about the money, so I gave him a figure that was actually a bit low. He paid me what I asked, said goodbye, and we parted ways.
Later that day, I started feeling bad about the whole thing -- like I hadn't expressed proper appreciation. This was a genuinely nice guy who had just bought a wonderful gift for my kids, and maybe I had been a little bit rude to him. I started composing an open letter to him which I was going to post to the blog in hopes that he might stumble on it. I still didn't suspect in the least that he was a celebrity.
That night when I brought the box home for the kids to open it, I wondered how they would receive it. Would they see the point? After all, we don't have any vinyl records to play on it.
I needn't have worried. The kids were thrilled. When they pulled it out of the box, we all marveled at the beauty of the thing. It had a retro design -- kind of a 60s/70s feel to it, nothing like the ones that I remembered from my high school days when the phonograph was just about to be eclipsed. No glowing lights, no high tech controls. The whole thing was enclosed in a hard plastic red and tan case with the speakers built into the bottom. There were two knobs on the front: volume and tone.
I promised the kids that we would buy some vinyl albums.Mary suggested that it would be really cool to get some Christmas music to play on it. With its old-fashioned styling and bright red color, it actually looked kind of "Christmassy" somehow.
Later that evening, it occurred to me to go online and see if I could find JC. I went to a website that listed the cast and crew of Grey's Anatomy and glanced quickly through the list of the show's stars, pretty sure that I wouldn't find him there. And I didn't. No JC. No big surprise.
I checked out the list of "recurring roles" and didn't find him there either. Hmmm. I went back to the stars just to be sure I hadn't missed anything, and there he was! Justin Chambers. JC. Once I knew his full name, I started surfing the web for more information about him and quickly realized that the guy has some pretty impressive credits, even apart from Grey's Anatomy. (Here he is on Wikipedia, but the entry is a bit outdated. There are also several interesting interviews posted on YouTube.)
I've always considered myself above the whole celebrity obsession thing, but now I found myself starstruck. What about the box that the record player had come in? I had thrown it in the garage to be put out with the next day's garbage. It had his autograph on it with the note to my kids! I rushed out to rescue it.
Looking back, I'm glad that I got the chance to appreciate JC as a very cool, nice, generous, person before I found out he was famous. I would love to have the chance to hang out with him again. I would take him anywhere he wanted on my pedicab, and I wouldn't dream of mentioning money. Most of all, I would welcome the chance to show him how much I appreciate his thoughtfulness to my kids.
JC, if you're reading this, here's my prayer for you: May the Original JC, The King, bless your kids like you blessed mine!
very cool! might be a bit of a stretch but it reminds me of the verse that talks about "entertaining angels unawares..."
ReplyDeleteMatt, I actually thought of that too.
ReplyDelete