It’s time for another amazing adventure!
It was a morning like any other, and I was up ridiculously early and walking to my local train station to get to work. Being the awesome employee that I am I was, of course, running early. [I am never, ever late to work because this would be the opposite of awesome.]
I approached an elderly gentleman who was walking in the same direction as I. He must have been hard of hearing and had sub-par peripheral vision, for he stepped into an alleyway [the very same alleyway that I purchased a rose-smelling beverage, if you will recall] directly into the path of an on-coming, albeit slow-moving, garbage truck.
“Look out, old man!” I called as I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. In hindsight, I realized there was never any real danger–the truck, which was stopping anyway to collect trash, stopped a good ten feet away from the man. But whatever, live and learn. He was taken aback by my intrusion into his morning constitutional and hurriedly shuffled off muttering something about punk teenagers. I was very confused, as I am clearly not a teenager, nor did I give off a punk vibe in my business casual attire.
“I saw what you did–er, tried to do,” came a deep masculine voice from behind me. “It was very awesome of you.”
“Thank y–” I started to reply as I turned around. I lost all sense and ability to speak when I discovered that it was Gerard Butler who had spoken the words. He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. “–you… you’re Gerard Butler. This is so awesome meeting you!”
“Yes, thanks for reminding me. And you are?”
“I’m Teri.”
He extended a hand, shaking mine. Only it wasn’t the right hand that he extended, as is the custom. I’m not sure if it was because he is Scottish or because he happened to be carrying a golden retriever at the time, but he extended his left hand. I was unsettled but determined to touch him in some way, and I extended my left as well. I felt a jolt of electricity as our hands connected and my heart rate sped up. I continued to shake his hand, unwilling or unable to break physical contact.
The smile on his face became less genuine as the handshake continued. I realized I was squeezing his hand, but couldn’t stop myself. “Ohmygodiloveyouithinkyou’resohoti’veseenallyourmovies,” I said [rather casually, I thought].
“Right. Can I have my hand back now? This is slightly less awesome.”
Several things happened at that particular moment. 1.) A woman on rollerblades skated by, a medium-sized poodle trotting along beside her, 2.) The garbage truck that I was currently blocking had finished its collection and wanted access to the street, and 3.) The golden retriever turned out to be a big fan of poodles but not so much of garbage truck horns. The dog, in a state of lust-filled panic, bolted from Gerard’s right arm [seriously where was the leash on that thing?], barreled into me, and ran off after the trotting poodle. The hand shake ended as I was knocked backward into the garbage truck where I smacked my left hand [still extended in mid-shake] a good one on the truck’s front left headlight, cracking it.
Gerard took off after his dog leaving me with a hand contusion and a very angry garbageman.
That wasn’t so awesome.