A Brief Lie
I met Sir Anthony Hopkins the other day. I was putting gas in the truck, and wondering at the "Jesus will return, repent your sins" post-it note somebody had stuck on the gas pump at the BP station, when a man wandered around the rear end of my truck.
"Hey, fella!" he said.
"Hi," I said.
"You got fifty cents I could borrow? My cell phone is out of power, and I need to use the pay phone. I'm Anthony Hopkins."
I knew that it was Anthony Hopkins, because I've seen Freejack maybe 200 times. I know that movie better than I know my duties at my job, which is something I'm sure will come up on my review later next month. In fairness, I did mention that fact in my own self-review, that as great as my job is, it comes nowhere near the hellishly fun world made all too real by Masters Estevez, Jagger and Hopkins.
I gave Anthony Hopkins 50 cents, because I've seen Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, too.
"Thank you, sir!" He gave me a light salute off his right eyebrow, and he turned to walk away.
"Mr. Hopkins?"
"Yes?" he said, turning, but still sidestepping toward the gas station.
I had to ask. I didn't know if I'd ever have this opportunity again:
"What was it like to work with Ice-T in Tank Girl? Did you laugh at his makeup?"
A rather glum look crossed his face. He slowly walked back to my truck. It was as if he were afraid to break the news.
"I think you're confusing me with Malcolm McDowell. I wasn't in Tank Girl."
If ever I've been dumbstruck in all my life, it was then, at the Willow Springs BP station.
Anthony Hopkins patted the tailgate of my truck lightly. I think he did this, because he knew that if he got too close, I'd cry.
"I'm sorry," he said. And he turned and walked into the gas station.
Right then, the gas pump kicked off, as my gas tank was full. I returned the nozzle to its holder, and screwed the cap back into place. The world had a terrycloth on your teeth feel, and suddenly, I needed moonshine as badly as I needed oxygen, water or pictures of dogs with hats.
I got into my truck, and as I drove away, I saw Sir Anthony Hopkins emerge from the station carrying two 24 oz. cans of Old English, talking on a cell phone so recently reported to be out of power.
I have even money that the old son of a bitch was calling Malcolm McDowell.
I hate when Malcolm McDowell laughs at me.
"Hey, fella!" he said.
"Hi," I said.
"You got fifty cents I could borrow? My cell phone is out of power, and I need to use the pay phone. I'm Anthony Hopkins."
I knew that it was Anthony Hopkins, because I've seen Freejack maybe 200 times. I know that movie better than I know my duties at my job, which is something I'm sure will come up on my review later next month. In fairness, I did mention that fact in my own self-review, that as great as my job is, it comes nowhere near the hellishly fun world made all too real by Masters Estevez, Jagger and Hopkins.
I gave Anthony Hopkins 50 cents, because I've seen Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, too.
"Thank you, sir!" He gave me a light salute off his right eyebrow, and he turned to walk away.
"Mr. Hopkins?"
"Yes?" he said, turning, but still sidestepping toward the gas station.
I had to ask. I didn't know if I'd ever have this opportunity again:
"What was it like to work with Ice-T in Tank Girl? Did you laugh at his makeup?"
A rather glum look crossed his face. He slowly walked back to my truck. It was as if he were afraid to break the news.
"I think you're confusing me with Malcolm McDowell. I wasn't in Tank Girl."
If ever I've been dumbstruck in all my life, it was then, at the Willow Springs BP station.
Anthony Hopkins patted the tailgate of my truck lightly. I think he did this, because he knew that if he got too close, I'd cry.
"I'm sorry," he said. And he turned and walked into the gas station.
Right then, the gas pump kicked off, as my gas tank was full. I returned the nozzle to its holder, and screwed the cap back into place. The world had a terrycloth on your teeth feel, and suddenly, I needed moonshine as badly as I needed oxygen, water or pictures of dogs with hats.
I got into my truck, and as I drove away, I saw Sir Anthony Hopkins emerge from the station carrying two 24 oz. cans of Old English, talking on a cell phone so recently reported to be out of power.
I have even money that the old son of a bitch was calling Malcolm McDowell.
I hate when Malcolm McDowell laughs at me.
posted by Tommy at
10:15
8 Comments:
Not a lie, but still brief: I am patiently waiting for your book.
I wish my imaginary life was as interesting as yours.
i am new to your site...... I love your style. Great story.... can't wait to read more. Thanks.
I call shenanigans!
I would have had to thank him profusely for the finest movie he ever made, hearts In Atlantis (which he probably doesn't even remember, but I'll never forget).
I'm not as patient as valnour. I wish you could give up your day job and do this all the time. No shit.
If you could put in a good word for me anywhere, Alice, I'd be much obliged. I work cheap....
You, Sir, are a twisted genius. And I mean that in the most complimentary way imaginable.
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