A few years ago, when I was working at Borders, I had the chance to meet Anne Lamott, who is one of my very favorite authors of all time. When she came to speak at my store, I was delighted. My manager knew from the fact that I CRIED when I heard she was coming that it would literally make a dream come true if I could meet her.
When my big moment came, I froze. I handed her my copy of her book, and she was so kind to me.
“What do you do here at Borders?” she asked me.
“Cashier…” I eeked.
She continued making small talk, I’m sure the whole time thinking it was so sweet that Borders hires people who are socially awkward and obviously can’t speak. I was so dumbstruck by the whole thing. Literally, starstruck. I love this woman. I wanted to tell her everything: how her writing made me feel understood, how much I loved Bird By Bird, how much she’d changed my life.
Instead, I repeated one phrase over and over like a damn parrot: “I love your writing!—-I love your writing!”
At the end, she hugged me—a good hug—and said my hair smelled nice. She explained that she’d just gotten over a cold and that it was nice to smell something good.
“I just took a shower!” I told her. Uh, awesome!
Tomorrow, I will meet another sort of Idol of mine. The much-revered Dooce is doing a reading in Mountain View, which is close enough for me to attend, and I’m going to go with some friends.
I am so excited, but so nervous. I don’t know if we’ll stay and meet her, but oh my god…what if? I hope I can come up with something more exciting than “I love your blog.”
Like maybe straightening her out on the pronunciation of “CRAYON.”