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| George Clooney and Grant Heslov, (heyuguys.com) They ummmm, didn't exactly win any Oscars for the movie they were filming when I served them. |
BUT there's also a catch: some fairly exhaustive backstory. You really won't be able to appreciate the first words that came out of my mouth when I met Mr. Clooney, unless you have the backstory.
So about a month before "George Clooney walks into a bar" ...
I'm serving dinner and drinks to these three guys from out of town at the bar - which was quite normal for me in Roswell (at Cattle Baron - it was "my bar" Monday-Friday for about seven years, and we had arguably the best hotel in town for business travelers right next door. We were un-arguably the best place to eat in town, so it turned into a very mutually beneficial relationship).
And yeah, in whatever inane chitter-chatter I might've made or overheard with these guys, something about filming a movie probably came up. That too happens in Roswell (I've been in a few myself). These guys were more in the "scouting out the town" stage of whatever it was they were into.
So at some point Randy comes in, sits on the other end of the bar, and orders dinner as well. He of course orders The Millionaire's Steak, so named because ... Oh haha, I'm getting ahead of myself.
So at some point Randy comes in, sits on the other end of the bar, and orders dinner as well. He of course orders The Millionaire's Steak, so named because ... Oh haha, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Again.
I know, "Who's Randy?" right?
Long story short, Randy used to serve and bartend here with me, got fired, then won a chunk of over $200 million when his family hit the Powerball after going in together on lottery tickets at Randy's niece's third birthday party.
True story.
Randy's a good regular now, tips okay (20%). I'll tell you about all that some other time maybe. That would be "The Randy Miller Story" however, and this is "The George Clooney Story" ...
Time passes.
One of my three gentlemen (pictured above) announces his pending early retirement across the way to his hotel room and "tabs out" with me. The other gentlemen order two more drinks. As I'm making them, Randy pops up with "I recognize him ... He's an actor ...
"What's the movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis?"
"True Lies?" I offer.
"Yes!" Randy exclaims. "He was the helicopter pilot who got shot."
Sounded like a longshot to me actually, that Randy would remember that small a part after that much time. Seemed unlikely, but just to be congenial and to make conversation (among the other things I do, besides making drinks and serving diners) I check back with the two guys, leading with "Hey my friend made your friend. Says he was a helicopter pilot in True Lies."
"Yeh, he was. Grant Heslov. He's a producer now."
I act sufficiently impressed enough to pass for sincere, and report back to Randy to offer him his kudos for nailing the mystery guest. And to check on his steak.
And then I forgot about it.
Time passes.
I know, "Who's Randy?" right?
Long story short, Randy used to serve and bartend here with me, got fired, then won a chunk of over $200 million when his family hit the Powerball after going in together on lottery tickets at Randy's niece's third birthday party.
True story.
Randy's a good regular now, tips okay (20%). I'll tell you about all that some other time maybe. That would be "The Randy Miller Story" however, and this is "The George Clooney Story" ...
Time passes.
One of my three gentlemen (pictured above) announces his pending early retirement across the way to his hotel room and "tabs out" with me. The other gentlemen order two more drinks. As I'm making them, Randy pops up with "I recognize him ... He's an actor ...
"What's the movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis?"
"True Lies?" I offer.
"Yes!" Randy exclaims. "He was the helicopter pilot who got shot."
Sounded like a longshot to me actually, that Randy would remember that small a part after that much time. Seemed unlikely, but just to be congenial and to make conversation (among the other things I do, besides making drinks and serving diners) I check back with the two guys, leading with "Hey my friend made your friend. Says he was a helicopter pilot in True Lies."
"Yeh, he was. Grant Heslov. He's a producer now."
I act sufficiently impressed enough to pass for sincere, and report back to Randy to offer him his kudos for nailing the mystery guest. And to check on his steak.
And then I forgot about it.
Time passes.
The town's all abuzz with the news that George Clooney is somewhere, filming a scene for some movie. Nobody seems to know the what and the where, and various local sites are being debated by those pretending they know something about where "the best place to actually see him" will be. Personally I can't help but pondering while in the shower "Well, we are right next to the best hotel in town ... and we're the best restaurant in town ... everybody winds up here eventually."
But now it's been hours since my shower and it's loud. I'm quite busy, and all the musings of whom I might see at work tonight are forgotten ... lost to the tyranny of the urgent. I'm constantly prioritizing and re-prioritizing two or three times per minute, as I accomplish one thing, or something or someone new comes into the picture suddenly.
Like that moment when you hate to have to leave the bar for any length of time, but it's busy all around tonight and it's almost past time for me to go check on some food I've ordered for a guest that seems to be taking a moment or two longer than I'd expect, and nobody else is running it out to me so I need to go check myself and when I return to the bar with his still hot food (I have this sense of timing that sometimes just goes off when someone's food is ready, like my own personal "Spidey-sense" ... it also tingles when I'm being seated a new table yet I'm not within eye-range of the hostess) in my hands, when I do my usual re-entry scan and notice two new guests way down at the end of the bar so I drop the food off hoping to get away quickly without any conversation so that I can greet the new guests and hustle over there and now I'm eye-to-eye with the first of the two guys and holy shit that's George Clooney, and suddenly I have no idea what to do or say.
I don't have a box for this situation in my brain, or know what to do next. No SOP. If Mr. Clooney were an old lady who's oxygen tank had run out, I would know what do to. I've dealt with that before. If he were almost dead and surrounded by paramedics on the ground in front of the salad bar where people are walking back and forth I could step in to direct traffic, and just do the same thing I did the last time a man died in front of me at work.
But this isn't those stories. This is George Clooney, now smiling back at me - and you know what's more? He's looking like he'd like to order a drink ...
Well, in that respect he's just like any one of the other countless thousands of people I've made drinks for. With that, my fear of the unknown dissipates, and muscle memory kicks in. I've got this. Instinctively, I turn away from Mr. Clooney without speaking, because making eye contact and welcoming ALL new guests is a top priority and so, turning to Mr. Clooney's left / my right, my gaze falls upon the face of a man I've seen only once before.
Now, you and I know good and well that he and I didn't exactly get down to a first-name-basis the last time he was here ... heh, not by any means. Nonetheless, there he is, and suddenly my most immediate problem is solved.
Beaming, I stretch forth my open right hand to shake his, and even muster the gaul to say ... "Hi Grant!
"Thanks for bringing me in some new business."
Grant responds by kind of playing along with my vibe for just a second ... even shaking my hand maybe just to see where this is going. Before I lose any momentum, I close the deal - again on instinct - by leaning in saying "What can I get for you?"
Looking back to Mr. Clooney now, I see that he's still turned towards Mr. Heslov with this look that says "Oh, and just how do YOU rate?"
or, "So, you're a bigger shot than me now?" It was quite funny, for improv.
Mustering my focus enough to just casually ask "And you sir?" Mr, Clooney requests a "vodka/cranberry." Surprisingly, he settles for Absolut. Despite my obligatory upgrade effort, he's old school, not a chance.
"Yes, please" he says to the lime, and I get to slide away from this first round knowing that I nailed it. He'll be eating out of my hand from here out.
However, looking back now on the three nights in a row that I served these same gentlemen, I feel remiss that I actually don't remember what Mr. Heslov ordered. Heck, I can still tell you exactly what Mr. Clooney ate even, but not even what Mr. Heslov replied to me in that moment.
And altho I know I sound like I came off pretty smooth in that George Clooney moment, I feel a genuine loss reporting to you that just two nights later, when Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges also came into the bar (filming a scene for the same movie), I completely failed to simply hand Mr. Bridges a White Russian saying, "Here ya are, Dude. On me." I still regret not thinking of that.
Man, this has been quite a long blog entry, hasn't it?
You're staring at me. What?
Three nights I waited on him? What happened? What'd he say? How'd he tip? What DID he eat? What's he like?
Details, details ... looks like all of that will have to wait, for what I guess I'll now have to (quite incorrectly) call "The Grant Heslov Story."
Perhaps that can be "Next, on Guy's Work Blog."
Unless I decide to go with "The Randy Miller Story."
Honestly, I rarely know what's next.
But now it's been hours since my shower and it's loud. I'm quite busy, and all the musings of whom I might see at work tonight are forgotten ... lost to the tyranny of the urgent. I'm constantly prioritizing and re-prioritizing two or three times per minute, as I accomplish one thing, or something or someone new comes into the picture suddenly.
Like that moment when you hate to have to leave the bar for any length of time, but it's busy all around tonight and it's almost past time for me to go check on some food I've ordered for a guest that seems to be taking a moment or two longer than I'd expect, and nobody else is running it out to me so I need to go check myself and when I return to the bar with his still hot food (I have this sense of timing that sometimes just goes off when someone's food is ready, like my own personal "Spidey-sense" ... it also tingles when I'm being seated a new table yet I'm not within eye-range of the hostess) in my hands, when I do my usual re-entry scan and notice two new guests way down at the end of the bar so I drop the food off hoping to get away quickly without any conversation so that I can greet the new guests and hustle over there and now I'm eye-to-eye with the first of the two guys and holy shit that's George Clooney, and suddenly I have no idea what to do or say.
I don't have a box for this situation in my brain, or know what to do next. No SOP. If Mr. Clooney were an old lady who's oxygen tank had run out, I would know what do to. I've dealt with that before. If he were almost dead and surrounded by paramedics on the ground in front of the salad bar where people are walking back and forth I could step in to direct traffic, and just do the same thing I did the last time a man died in front of me at work.
But this isn't those stories. This is George Clooney, now smiling back at me - and you know what's more? He's looking like he'd like to order a drink ...
Well, in that respect he's just like any one of the other countless thousands of people I've made drinks for. With that, my fear of the unknown dissipates, and muscle memory kicks in. I've got this. Instinctively, I turn away from Mr. Clooney without speaking, because making eye contact and welcoming ALL new guests is a top priority and so, turning to Mr. Clooney's left / my right, my gaze falls upon the face of a man I've seen only once before.
Now, you and I know good and well that he and I didn't exactly get down to a first-name-basis the last time he was here ... heh, not by any means. Nonetheless, there he is, and suddenly my most immediate problem is solved.
Beaming, I stretch forth my open right hand to shake his, and even muster the gaul to say ... "Hi Grant!
"Thanks for bringing me in some new business."
Grant responds by kind of playing along with my vibe for just a second ... even shaking my hand maybe just to see where this is going. Before I lose any momentum, I close the deal - again on instinct - by leaning in saying "What can I get for you?"
Looking back to Mr. Clooney now, I see that he's still turned towards Mr. Heslov with this look that says "Oh, and just how do YOU rate?"
or, "So, you're a bigger shot than me now?" It was quite funny, for improv.
Mustering my focus enough to just casually ask "And you sir?" Mr, Clooney requests a "vodka/cranberry." Surprisingly, he settles for Absolut. Despite my obligatory upgrade effort, he's old school, not a chance.
"Yes, please" he says to the lime, and I get to slide away from this first round knowing that I nailed it. He'll be eating out of my hand from here out.
However, looking back now on the three nights in a row that I served these same gentlemen, I feel remiss that I actually don't remember what Mr. Heslov ordered. Heck, I can still tell you exactly what Mr. Clooney ate even, but not even what Mr. Heslov replied to me in that moment.
And altho I know I sound like I came off pretty smooth in that George Clooney moment, I feel a genuine loss reporting to you that just two nights later, when Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges also came into the bar (filming a scene for the same movie), I completely failed to simply hand Mr. Bridges a White Russian saying, "Here ya are, Dude. On me." I still regret not thinking of that.
Man, this has been quite a long blog entry, hasn't it?
You're staring at me. What?
Three nights I waited on him? What happened? What'd he say? How'd he tip? What DID he eat? What's he like?
Details, details ... looks like all of that will have to wait, for what I guess I'll now have to (quite incorrectly) call "The Grant Heslov Story."
Perhaps that can be "Next, on Guy's Work Blog."
Unless I decide to go with "The Randy Miller Story."
Honestly, I rarely know what's next.
