A Familiar Face

Lunch yesterday at Wendy’s near USC (a large #7 combo with a small chili). I was wandering away from the counter with my tray when the server asked, as if he knew me from somewhere: “Are you a producer?”

“A producer?” He hadn’t said what sort of producer, but this is LA, so it was obvious.

“A producer. A movie producer.”

“No!” I laughed, a little too loudly. It might even have been a guffaw. “What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. You have a familiar face.”

The whole business made me recall the time about twenty years ago when, standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, I was approached by a man who seemed to think I was a drug dealer (or perhaps a user — that probably doesn’t make it any better). My own situation might not have improved significantly since then, but the person I’m mistaken for seems to be doing very well for himself.


  • Vic: Ha. Would have to be before he lost all that weight. Even so, it’s a stretch. The fact that he said ‘producer’, and not ‘director’, suggests that he might be trying to get into the business, and going to endless auditions and such, in between serving me. I assumed at the time that he meant a producer he’d had some sort of vague contact with.

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