One day I went to a restaurant where I had never been before. The hostess walked backward talking to me as she led me to a dimly lit table. Her stunning blue eyes captivated me. I am a bachelor, so why can’t I notice things like that? At least I wasn’t staring a foot south.
The hostess seated me, handed me a menu, said my waitress would be there shortly, and strolled away. That’s when I noticed him. Yes, Stephen King–the king of horror. He sat a table away staring right at me! I nodded and he nodded back. That shocked me because I had heard stories about how unpleasant he was. One guy even told me he would not be surprised if it was discovered when Mr. King was hit by that van that it was no accident.
Stephen King and I stared at each other as if we couldn’t believe it. My head whirled as I tried to figure out what he was doing in my home town. He couldn’t be here for a book signing. That would have been plastered all over the news. I knew he didn’t have any relatives in the area. Besides, if he did he wouldn’t be sitting in a restaurant alone.
The waitress said something to me. I had been so engrossed by Mr. King that I didn’t even know she stood there with her little pad out and ready. I looked at her and she asked, “Well?”
“Pardon me,” I said.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
I told her I’d take a glass of ice tea with lemon. I could hardly believe she stood no more than ten feet away from Mr. Horror himself and she was so calm, cool and collective. She didn’t even look in his direction. This waitress must have nerves of steel, I thought. What was more amazing was she turned and walked away without going over to see if Mr. King wanted anything. But then again, who knows how many famous people this woman had encountered in her waitress life? Several have visited this area and even a few live here. So to her, he could be just another person.
I decided I would not stare at the famous writer anymore, so I grabbed my menu and tried to keep my eyes on it. But I had to take one more glance. There he sat looking at me over the top of his menu. Boy, this was really weird.
Just then I saw a waitress coming down the aisle in the opposite direction my waitress came from. She turned and set a glass of ice tea on Mr. King’s table just as my waitress set a glass on my table. But even more bizarre, these two gals appeared to be twins. I gave the twin waiting on me my order and then peered at Stephen’s waitress. The sisters did something that I thought was really strange. They didn’t even acknowledge each other. They turned butt to butt and strolled away.
This was so way out there that I figured I had to be dreaming, so I pinched myself. Ow! That hurt. Not a dream. Since things seemed so ridiculously silly, I concluded I might as well go over and shake Mr. King’s hand. Talk about embarrassing. It was then I realized I had been staring at a mirror!
Author’s note: This story is totally made up except for the part of me looking somewhat like Stephen King. Several people have told me that and one guy even demanded to see my ID. He said, “If this said, ‘Richard Bachman’ instead of ‘Richard Meister’….” Then he looked right at me and said, “I’ll bet you really are Stephen King and you’re here researching your next book.”
I told him, “Sorry. I’m no more Stephen King than you are.”
I spent nearly a year spinning the thought of writing something about me looking like the famous writer. Finally, while sitting in a very dimly lit restaurant, it all came together. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.