At my own expense, of course

Since you’ve made the effort to follow me here, I thought I’d reward you for your efforts with a laugh at my own expense.

It’s the best kind, right?

About a month ago, I was here in Seattle at the too-cool-for-school W Hotel – the one with the DJ in the lounge on Wednesday nights filled with overdressed (or underdressed, if they’re female) hipsters all checking each other out…

… where was I going with this?  Right.

Background: Friday night, hipster hotel, too many happy hour drinks.  My drunk-ass walked two blocks out of the way to get dinner from my favorite restaurant (grilled calamari and Tuscan beans) and I’m carrying my big work bag full of stuff.  I’m squatting on the floor in the hotel digging through my bag on hunt for my hotel key – because of course you can’t use the elevators without a proper key, you know?

Doors open, three men join me in the elevator.  I straighten up, make an stupid comment about how I really am a guest, not just some person hanging out in elevators waiting to get up to the floors.

{It gets worse.  So much worse.}

As I read emails on my Blackberry, I realize: the elevator smells rather unsavory (remember my grilled calamari?).  Okay, fine, it smelled like a prostitute, okay? Of course I can’t leave that alone, so I say to the guy on my left, “Um, that funky smell is my dinner.  I swear.”

{Yup, still worse than this awkwardness.  Wait for it.}

Back to the Blackberry while berating myself for being a dumbass.  Why do I lack social skills?  So I look over to the two men on my left (all of whom, by the way, are talking about picking up women in generic but obvious terms) to see how big a dumbass I really am, and…

{Here you go.}

Um, that man looks like Apolo Ohno.

Back to the Blackberry. Can’t be, right? I peek again.  Nope, definitely him.  I think.  How would I know?  The legs.  I’d know by the legs.  Quick glance: big legs.  Olympian kind of legs.

Hee, hee.

Should I say something?  No.  I’m not a “talk to celebrities” kind of person, not to mention, I didn’t actually watch the Olympics, so while I know he could have been the winningest winter Olympian, I don’t actually know if he was.

Nothing more awesome than congratulating someone for some fantastic achievement they didn’t achieve.  Um, not.

Thank GAWD, we finally get to my floor.  Did I just get off the elevator?  Of course not!

“Apologies, again, for that whole stinky dinner thing, ha.  I swear it was the calamari, not, you know, me.”

Shoot me.  They smiled.  He winked at me.  I called my mother, who was horrified that I hadn’t taken a picture to send to her.   Pulling one from his Twitter feed (when I couldn’t help but do some digging to confirm) was the best I could do:

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2 thoughts on “At my own expense, of course

  1. Hot damn, that’s awesome! And it’s even better with all the awkwardness 🙂 My cousin saw him at the Olympics during his medal ceremony and he winked and pointed to her. I wouldn’t have believed it if she had only told me about it, but she called an hour before it aired on any TV and told us, then during the ceremony we saw the wink, the point, and her sign 🙂 Very cool!

  2. Ha. We took the airport shuttle to long term parking with Johnny Mosley (yes, I confirmed it was him via his luggage tag) on Sunday night, and I spent the entire trip trying to slyly get Jeremy’s attention and get him to notice. It was 2am in the morning- I guarantee you that there was nothing sly about whispering to Jeremy, “that’s Johnny Mosley!!!!”

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