Almost Famous

For some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to arise hours before dawn on a Saturday, wait three hours in a line snaked around the warehouse in the sometimes drizzling, sometimes pouring, rain to gain admittance to the yearly Bebe warehouse sale. Once inside, we were allowed 45 minutes to shop the racks in disarray. Hindsight, baby, hindsight.

As we were leaving the warehouse, two of us with bags, two of us empty-handed, we were given a flyer for another sample sale. For the Sak. Not far away, only a few blocks. “I’m up for it, but only if there’s no line. I’m so over lines right now,” I offered.

The second sale was much more productive, for all of us. As I guarded our cart while the others shopped, a woman approached me. “We’re following you,” she laughed. I recognized her from the Bebe sale. “So did you find anything at the other?” I asked. “Yeah, he bought me a lot of stuff.” She nodded towards a very tall man, close to 7 feet tall. “That’s awesome. I didn’t find anything. How did you find stuff? It was such a mess!” “Well,” she began, lowering her voice to a whisper, “we went in twice.” I looked at her, surprised. “You waited in that line two separate times? Man, you must love Bebe.” “No,” she smiled demurely, “we didn’t have to wait.” “You didn’t? Why’s that?” At this point Emily had joined me, and her curiosity was piqued as well. “Well, you know, we didn’t have to wait in line, because he’s, well, because he’s sort of famous.” She nodded towards her man companion.

Emily and I followed her glance. “He is?” we asked without thinking. “Who is he?”

Just at that moment, he beckoned for her. She left us, a painstaking look on her face. I could tell she wanted to boast of her famous friend, yet she couldn’t do it with him right there.

A few minutes later she sidled up next to me. Before I even had a chance to turn around, she whispered, “Center. Golden State Warriors,” then scurried to the check-out line. I looked again. Must have been the burly security guards who let them in. I can’t imagine the petite Bebe fashionistas exclaiming, “Oh my god! It’s Erick Dampier! At Bebe! Oh my god! Don’t, like, make him wait in line!”

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