Sunday flowers and a very important celebrity
Since our dog pays rent with discarded hair, we’d been vacuuming all morning. Friends were coming over to spend the night. To liven up our space a bit, I decided to pop out for some flowers. But I refused to go to the one on Grand. Too close, too obvious, like ordering flowers online. I wanted to go somewhere new, so I sauntered toward Chinatown, looking for an open door or maybe just some flowers positioned outside, ready to be taken to their imminent beautiful decay. There were plenty of people out going to shops and in line for dim sum. A beautiful Sunday to loaf around.
A car that was probably carrying someone important was double parked in front of a flower shop that caught my attention; I stood in the shade and admired the building across the street, and noticed the ceramic koi on the roof that sat propped up on the eaves that I had never noticed before. I took a picture.
A dignified figure was standing by the rear quarter panel of the car, clearly on the clock with a head on a swivel. But when I poked my head inside the shop, and couldn't see any bouquets pre-made, I started to regret not ordering online. Choice fatigue was upon me. A guy dashed in and grabbed a stunning bouquet, and based on his urgency, I concluded it was a bouquet to fix something or to apologize. I could feel the weight of the bouquet as it got tucked away in a normal car.
That's when I peeked at the figure that was probably someone important. My bike, parked next to him, looked like a toy, and my bike is quite large, even extra large. He was face down on his phone, laughing at something, but I knew who he was. One airpod in, so you know he's cool and respectful to those around him.
I got sweaty. Sweaty from coffee and no breakfast. Sweaty from having to pick out platonic flowers for people I don't really know. Sweaty from what I would likely do next, which was to creep up, possessed by the cult of celebrity and patheticness:
“Hey...sorry...it's just....wow...you are”
“You are good. Don't be sorry.”
I dapped him up and my hand felt dismal in the champion, all-star, author's hand. He was just doing a normal thing, buying flowers for some occasion. I was star struck in the flower shop, absolutely smitten by this definitely quite important celebrity doing a normal thing. Even celebrities buy flowers at a flower shop. Who knew?
Generally, I am in the camp of leaving famous people alone, and trying your darndest to be normal to them. But then it turns out it's really hard when you grew up seeing them do wonderful things in and for Oakland. I watched him on TV and admired him when I was young. I am sure he is used to it, but boy, did I feel pathetic. I wish I had read his book, so I could at least gab about that. I am on a memoir kick anyway so maybe it is fate. I have never been so smitten by a public figure. I was properly shook.
He left, got in the backseat of his important person's vehicle and was driven away to give the flowers to someone he loves. I picked out my flowers, put them in my basket on my bike and prayed that me and my lovely bouquet would make it home intact. A pedestrian hollered at me “gorgeous sunflowers!” A wholesome comment while I was avoiding a tricky bit of rutted motorway
I texted an ORB conspirator and told him that I ran into this famous person that he definitely would know. They texted back: “Did you invite him to the launch party?”
I didn't. I missed my shot, but don't make the same mistake if you meet someone famous and be sure to invite them to the ORB launch party. Regular people are always encouraged, actually preferred. Invite them. It's going to a blast. Guaranteed.
(If you are curious about the identity of the real celebrity, I will tell you at the ORB launch party. The flower shop was Family Flower Shop, Harrison and 10th.)
