Mustard for Mentos

We’d like to thank Freddi for sharing the following story.

At the pre-premiere of Bob Wilsons’s Peter Pan at the Berlin Ensemble theatre in the summer of 2013, I was sitting on pretty shitty seats way up in the gallery. The only cool thing it was that we were able to unashamedly gawk at Bill Murray (an old friend of Bob’s) who had a nice seat in the fifth row, center, and who we’d already spotted in the lobby while having drinks.

From the gallery we could see there were a couple of empty seats, almost next to Bill, that hadn’t been taken during the first half. Clever girls that we are, we went rushing down during the break to occupy the seats and start waiting for Mr. Murray to come back and sit down only two seats away, which he did. With my shyness, I couldn’t possibly be one of those people who come up to him, shake his hand, and tell him how they love his work. That’s not real interaction. That’s boring. Continue reading

Mustard and Pastrami on Rye

We’d like to thank Adam for this story:

In the summer of 2008, my ex and I helped a friend of hers move to NYC. We drove the U-Haul up after she had flown up and secured herself an apartment. On our drive, we had an hours-long conversation about the random occurrences and silly things we had experienced prior to meeting one another; little did we know this trip would bring us both a new thing to add to our lists.

After we had gotten her friend settled, we decided to stay a few extra days to catch an upcoming show at Webster Hall. The night of the show arrived and we stopped to grab a bite to eat at a deli before making it over to the concert. As we sat eating pastrami on ryes and chit chatting, a guy came walking into the restaurant, went behind the counter, and made himself a soft drink. An employee confronted the man, which caused us to look up and take notice that it was Bill Fucking Murray.

Upon realizing that he was there, my ex grabbed my phone and started to snap a picture. As quickly as she put the phone up, he approached and grabbed the phone, snapping it closed. He then put the phone down on the table, grabbed a bottle of mustard, opened it, and squeezed what was left onto my ex’s sandwich. We practically burst into tears; we were dying with laughter. He began to walk away, quietly saying, “No one will ever believe you“, as he threw a $20 bill on the table.