We’d like to thank Ruth for sharing the following story.
In 1977, I was a cocktail waitress at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. The Seven Continents Lounge was located in the International Terminal and was a popular watering hole and respite for weary travelers. People might have spent hours there, waiting for their flights while seeking comfort and a tasty beverage. Sometimes extremely busy and loud, sometimes quiet and almost empty, it was exciting to be working at one of the busiest airports in the world. This was the ultimate people-watching place, and, to this day, was my most interesting job.
I had seen and waited on several celebrities travelling through Chicago; Phil and Marlo, Hal Linden, The Wilson Sisters and Heart, Martin Mull, Phil Collins, Dolly Parton, to name a few. One Saturday I was working the day shift and, having opened at 10 am, I was the only waitress with Tom the bartender. Several guests came in and sat on opposite sides of the large room. I approached each of the three tables to get drink orders all together so they did not have to wait too long for service. Continue reading
We’d like to thank Tehila for sharing this story.
I was on a first date at a tea lounge in Brooklyn, when the person sitting at the table beside us pointed out Bill Murray. I excitedly asked my date if we could go over and say hi, he reluctantly agreed to go when Bill was alone. We went over and Bill was so nice! He shook my date’s hand and then put his hand out to shake mine. At this point, I should mention that I don’t shake men’s hands for religious reasons, and that’s what I told Bill.
It was loud in the room and he didn’t seem to hear me, so he took a step closer and asked me to repeat myself. So again, I told him, “I’m sorry, I don’t shake men’s hands for religious reasons.” Bill, at this point very close, said, “So what do you do?” As he took my face in his hands “Rub noses?” and rubbed his nose against mine. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “You crazy Eskimo girl!” Needless to say, it was my most memorable date.
We’d like to thank Colleen for sharing this story.
I had only lived in New York for a couple of months in the Fall of 2009. I was so happy to be here and, having made the decision on a whim, surprised at myself that I even made the move.
Because I recently quit my job, I was trying to limit my spending… but I needed a haircut. I went on Craig’s List and found one of those free haircuts offered at salons looking for “hair models”. The salon I went to on the Upper East Side was actually way nicer than I could’ve afforded even with a job. I left the salon right at dusk, feeling like I was looking a little cute.
I was headed to the subway when I walked under some well-lit scaffolding. Someone driving a late-model Mercedes station wagon slowed down and wolf whistled as they pulled up alongside me. I thought this person needed some directions — directions that I would be unable to give.
The driver rolled down the window and it’s BILL. FUCKING. MURRAY. I stare at him with my mouth open. In my head, I tell myself “Just say ANYTHING!” I say nothing. He gives me a look like, “Yep, I’m Bill Murray” and shouts “Sue!” to a middle-aged woman who had been walking behind me. She acknowledged him, walked around to the passenger side of his car, and got in. They drove away.
Best moment of my life.
We’d like to thank Justin Gish for the following story.
I was driving up Red Arrow Highway, on my way to the Stray Dog Bar and Grill, when a silver Beetle came up fast behind me. The car followed me close for a mile, so I sped up, cursing the bastard who would tailgate me on a two-lane highway. As my speed increased, the Beetle fell back, so my anger ebbed as I pulled into town and idled at a stoplight. But as I waited for permission to turn left, that damn Beetle pulled up beside me and I got worked up again.
I wanted to get a look at the cat who got my blood pressure up a few miles back and boy was I surprised when the driver turned out to be Bill Murray. I no longer wanted to tell him what I thought of his driving; I was sure he didn’t mean anything by it. But, seeing as it was Bill Murray, I had to say something.
His window was down, so I rolled mine down as well and leaned across my empty passenger seat. He was still looking dead ahead, not even a glance in my direction, so I yelled “FORE!” and he dropped like a prairie dog about to be leveled by a Jeep. After he popped back up, he looked my way and I told him that The Razor’s Edge was my favorite movie. He just smiled, shook his head, and said, “Nobody will ever believe you.”