Is it too much to ask for one outing without some creepy guy staring me down? Just because I am in the public eye does not make me a spectacle to gawk at like some diseased animal. I rose to fame on my own and not through some sleazy ladder of sex and connections. Okay, there was Lenny. But at least he had the surgeons to trade in wrinkles for plastic youth. You can’t fault me for one time, and you definitely can’t count anything that happens under the age of 18.
I can’t believe how brazen this man is. He could at least have the decency to be a little more discreet. Steal glances, pretend you’re noticing something behind me, anything but this unwavering attention. I wonder if he has any idea of the pressures I have to go through. Maybe no one has ever acknowledged his presence. His clothes look like thrift store rejects. I bet he’s homeless too. Perhaps I am the only beautiful thing in his miserable world. But come on, this is ridiculous.
Average people don’t even think twice about a celebrity’s privacy. I guess you can’t really blame them too much. I would abhor such a commonplace existence and probably cling on vicariously too to the people who really matter.
I should just chuck this newspaper at his stupid face. There should be laws forbidding people who visually rape. Who knows what is going through that pervert’s head? His eyes look like vapid pits completely mesmerized. Of course, he isn’t paying attention to anyone else but me. But I guess that does make sense.
And what’s that scar on his cheek about? He probably got into an intellectual brawl debating whether or not a tomato was a fruit or vegetable. It’s so infuriating the way people think they can do whatever they want to us. We are not prostitutes but gods. They should always remember their place.
I am not going to take this abuse anymore. “Excuse me, worker. I need to speak with a manager as soon as possible.”
“Is there anything I can help you with instead?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself. And don’t be slow about it either.”
The manager approaches with the same idiotic awe most people have when encountering me. He asks what the problem is. I point to the stalker and the manager interrupts, “Everyone is so excited to have a celebrity here at my diner.”
“Well, you should consider yourself lucky.”
“We do. Trust me; we do. I am so proud to have Craig Banton, the guy who saved an entire village and lost his eyesight as a result, in my diner. It’s so wonderful! I am sorry, ma’am. You had a problem?”