All Write, Already!

This reminded me of the worst time I was mistaken for someone else. I'd come into a coffee shop I'd frequented for years. I didn't know the guy behind the counter, but he swore he knew me, and flat-out refused to serve me.

I was mad. Fuming! Who the hell was he to refuse service to a regular customer? So I did what I usually did when mad: I walked. After a while, I passed a gas station. I went in and asked to borrow their phone book. They complied.

I looked up the coffee shop owner's home number, and called him. He knew me well; he ought to be able to rectify the matter. He said he'd give the shop a call and see what was going on.

So I walked back, and the Clerk From Hell took my order. He explained that I looked just like Michael Johnson, who apparently "steals bike parts." I took off my hat to give him a better look at my face, and he corrected himself, "Oh, no, your head's bigger."

And people say I have no social skills.