I’m at Philly International on Sunday picking up my goodest buddy Gordon, after his trek to nerd Mecca…San Diego’s “I am 40 and still live in my parent’s basement” Convention.
I get to the airport a few minutes after his plane is to land. I brought a book with me (The Adventures of Cavalier and Clay), because the airport runs about as smoothly as the DMV (No offensive Michelle if you read this). I crack open my book and wait.
After about10 minutes I check the board. The flight isn’t even listed…Hmmm, was I supposed to pick GoHo up today? I check my phone and get a text message at that moment. “We just landed.” I assume that Gordon means the plane just landed, or else he has some serious stories from San Diego (The Whales Vagina-just for you Tara).
I sit back down and continue to read. Just then a girl walks by me and she is holding an 8x10 glossy photo of Scarlett Johansson. “Odd,” I think and continue to read.
I get another Text Message, this time Gordon seems to be fuming (even through text). Apparently the plane has landed but there’s this whole “to do.” “No biggie,” I text back. I keep reading. The girl with the 8x10 jumps on the escalator. Is it possible that Ms. Johansson is in Philly? Nah…but, I follow the girl up the escalator. Sure it seems like stalking, but I defend it by claiming to be stalking Scarlett Jo, not this autograph hound.
The airport is empty. Like the scene in Terminal, when the airport is empty. Did you see it? It was a beauty.
So I walk towards where the girl with the 8x10 is standing and I take a seat. This side of the airport looks like it should have a “Closed” sign up. There is a guy with one of those big buffing machines cleaning the floors. He has on head phones and a janitor’s jump suit. It makes me think of an 80’s film. Not one in particular, but just any old 80’s movie.
SO I attempted to read again, but by this time a smattering of teenage girls started to appear holding 8x10 glossies. What the hell is going on? I decide that whatever hellaciousness is about occur, I wanted no part in it. I wasn’t the only one as an enormous black man in a suit walked pasted the girls escorted by a young woman in sunglasses and a fisherman’s cap. Just then I get another text message, “Heading to Baggage Claim D.” I start to gather my belonging’s which, as I already pointed out, was the book I already had in my hands.
I turned the same corner that the couple I had just seen disappeared behind. I noticed that the Ms Paul (remember the hat?) was now solo. He companion must have stopped off to use the facilities. As I neared her she stuck her hand into her purse. I imagine it was to pull out some lip stick or some fishing bait. As she did this the whole contents of her purse emptied on the floor.
This happens to all of us. A person drops something and we have that secondary pause of, “Should I help them.” It’s not a mean thing, but everyone is heading somewhere. For a split second I was going to keep going…but then my upbringing kicks in. I stop and bend down to help.
“Thank you so much. God I’m a klutz” s voice I vaguely recognize says.
“Nah, it happens to everyone. I can’t tell you how many times I where khaki pants and spill water on them making look like I peed,” is all I can come up with.
“Yeah, that’s not really the same thing,” she laughs.
“I guess not.”
I look past the sunglasses (at 12:00 at night) and past the fisherman’s cap and realize who it is I’m looking at.
“He’s your body guard isn’t he?” I ask, proving I’d unraveled the mystery.
“Yeah. He had to pee. Good thing he’s not wearing Khakis.” She says in a weirdly seductive way.
I realize we’re bonding over another man’s pants, or lack of them.
“What are you doing in Philly?” I ask.
“A friend of mine, Rachel Weisz, is shooting a film here.” She says as I hand her the last of the contents of her purse. I find it odd that she says her friend’s whole name.
She tells me they’re shooting in West Chester this week. Some best seller book that Julie loves. I tell her I’m from West Chester and she says we should get together out there for drinks some night. I figure she’s kidding or blowing me off or both, but I still give her my phone number (I might have forgotten to mention Julie). Julie and I laughed at the story and that was that…until last night.
We were sitting on the couch watching the Phillies beating the Brewers 5 to 1. My cell phone rings and it’s a (310) number I don’t recognize. I answer it thinking it might be a contractor I deal with.
SJ: “It’s Scarlett.”
I look at Julie as if she’s going to help me. Then it dawns on me…
Me: “Oh. Hey what’s goin on?”
SJ: “I’m at a place in West Chester called Kooma. Wanna meet up?”
Me: “Uh, sure. Where?”
SJ: “We were thinking of going to Kildaire’s down the street.”
Me: “Oh.” (Very unenthused).
SJ: “No good?”
Me: “I guess. It’s just that place is always packed.”
SJ: “Do you know a quiet more intimate place we could meet up?”
Me: “Of course!”
And that ladies and gentlemen is how I got Scarlett Johansson to go to the Square Bar. If you were there you might not have recognized her with her “mask” on.
Some side notes:
-Yes Gordon got home okay.
-Yes the Brewers came back to beat the Phillies.
-Yes Scarlett made reference to “spilling” something on my Khaki’s at the Square Bar.
Tune in next time and learn how I got Christina Ricci to eat at Harry’s Hotdogs.