One thing that’s hard about celebrity spotting at the bookstore is that we can’t divulge names without violating our customers’ privacy, so we have to tell our stories with a little scrim in front of the most salient details. Still, I can’t resist sharing an anecdote from this week, because I come off like such an ass in it that I am still laughing and kicking myself in equal measure.

I’d noticed the family outside the restaurant next to our store when I arrived at work one muggy afternoon — an adorable toddler in a dotted dress, waiting out the weather on a wooden bench on the porch with a small cluster of adults. They looked hot, but companionable. Some minutes later, they wandered into our air-conditioned bookstore and browsed, cooling off. After a while, most of the group wandered back outside, but one man stayed back to buy a book. He came up to the counter. He looked like a hundred other Vermont dads and young granddads, a nice-looking middle-aged guy in casual clothes and a baseball cap. He was just passing through, he said, but I had the feeling he’d been in the bookstore before. We get a lot of summer visitors who visit once a year, and I was almost certain we’d met. His voice was familiar, and he had a quiet but distinct presence that rang a bell.
Now, I have a moderate facial recognition issue, which often gets me into trouble. I’ll be watching a movie, and a guy will come on screen, and I’ll say, “Wait, who’s that?,” and my movie companion will say to me, “It’s the same guy from the last scene, with a hat on.” “Oh, right.” It happens to me all the time in real life, too, so I’m used to not recognizing people I actually do know.
“You seem so familiar,” I said brightly to the customer. “How do I know you?”
He paused, then said, almost inaudibly, “I’m an actor.” This should have been my clue to leave it alone. Only famous actors mutter their credentials. But no. I grew up in Los Angeles surrounded by actors and actresses, including my own mom, so It’s like a little happy blast from home when I encounter people in the entertainment business, so I plunged on, oblivious to his signal. “So… where might I know you from?” I asked as I made change for his purchase.
“What do you mean?” he said, a bit flatly. At this point, when his lack of enthusiasm was clearly evident, I really should have stopped myself. But I didn’t. I was looking forward to that moment when “you look familiar” turns into satisfying recognition. I clarified. “I mean, what recent work might I have seen you in?”
And then he mentioned three hugely famous, internationally hugely famous, funny movies from the past couple of decades, one each from adult, teen, and kids’ genres. These were major movies, and I was trying to place him in them. Feeling a little sheepish and still not totally on the ball, not entirely certain what role he’d played (character actor? sidekick?), I punted. I said jovially, “Gosh, never heard of those little films.” Totally kidding, because everyone alive has heard of those films, but he didn’t chuckle along with me. I’m not even sure he knew I was joking. He might have thought I was a rural rube who didn’t go to movies, or a bookish sort who eschewed pop culture. I knew I’d blown it, but wasn’t sure why. Yet.
If Josie had been working that day, or if Laura hadn’t gone to lunch immediately before this family came in, I might have been saved. Josie would recognized him right away and could have slipped me a Post-It with his name on it.
I was already kicking myself when, as he turned to leave, a customer standing nearby looked at me and mouthed his name. All of a sudden, everything clicked. I could see his face morphing into his slightly younger face in those movies, complete with makeup and costumes. He wasn’t a character actor. He was the main character in all those movies. And not just the star, but also a writer, a producer, and a director of some of the most creative projects to ever come out of Hollywood. I watched as this humble icon walked out of my store into the sultry heat of a pre-storm afternoon.
The young woman nearby turned to me and said, “I can’t believe I just did that! I can’t believe I just stood there and said ‘Hi!’ to him like that!”
She said he’d caught her eye on the way out, and she, recognizing him, had beamed, and maybe even hopped a little, as she said a bubbly “Hi!”
She added, “What I really wanted to say is, ‘You are a freaking genius.'”
Yeah. That would have been nice. She and I stood there, both replaying our respective idiocy, wishing we had been more collected, more articulate, funnier, and appreciative of this man’s prodigious talent in a way that wouldn’t come off so boneheaded.
I was especially annoyed with myself. Even though it is probably refreshing not to be gawped at and gushed over everywhere you go, it’s also probably unsettling not even to be recognized after being forced to out yourself to an inquisitive stranger.
And then we grabbed our phones, wondering who among our friends would most appreciate the absurdity of our exchanges and the magnificence of even such a quick visit from a world far, far away from little Vermont.