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Scintilla Day 11: My Childhood Hero
Mar. 28th, 2012 07:18 pmQ: Tell a story you haven't told yet. Give it a different ending than the one that really happened. Don't tell us where you start changing things. Just go.
[NOTE: I sort of cheated here. Most all of my LJ friends know this story already and know what's true and what might not be (so don't give it away for the others!). I'm telling it here for the benefit of the Scintilla readers.]
I met one of my childhood heroes on April 12, 2000, when I was working at HMV Records. It wasn't the first time I met a famous rock musisian, as in the four years I'd worked there, I'd seen (or heard about) big name rockers popping into the store every now and again. I'd gone to various shows and stayed for meet-and-greets, or gone to signings.
The store was at the Solomon Pond Mall in Marlborough--kind of an odd place but a well-placed one. It's about 10 miles east of Worcester and 40 miles east of Boston, so it's kind of in the middle of nowhere. On the other hand, it's at the intersection where I-290 and I-495 meet up, so it's really easy to get to. For this reason, a lot of musicians who were playing in either town would stop by because it was out of town but close enough for them to retain a bit of anonymity.
My job was in the back room--I was the sole shipping/receiving clerk for most of the four years I was there. When I wasn't out on the sales floor helping various customers or ringing up at the register, or what have you, I was out in the spacious back room where I'd be pricing, sale-stickering, ordering, whatever needed to be done. It might have been a somewhat monotonous job for some people, but I absolutely adored it because I saw EVERYTHING that came in, which means that I got to hear albums before the drop date and listened to pretty much anything on the cd player up back.
On that day, however, it was a pretty quiet day. Not too much happening. I'd just gotten a visit from our UPS deliveryman, who would usually share some sordid or funny stories of things going on elsewhere in the building. He'd told me someone famous was in the building, but I didn't take him too seriously...it just sounded too farfetched. Not impossible--the person was apparently in the area, visiting a new-agey health clinic a few towns over--but I highly doubted he'd be here. I let it pass and went on with my work.
That afternoon, I was doing my usual work of checking in new product and listening to music, when I got a page from my boss who was up front.
"Jon, could you please come to the floor? Someone needs help in the world music section...they're over in the back corner."
I sat there for a second...first of all, our world music section is terribly tiny, and second of all, it's the one section I know the least in our store. Third of all, the world section was near the registers, not in the back forty where it used to be. But I figured they were busy up front, so I shrugged and made my way out. I stepped through the back door and looked for a lost client.
And found myself looking at George Harrison.
Now, mind you, I'm a HUGE Beatles fan, and had been so since I was a kid. He was a hero to me, more than the other three in the band. He was the most spiritual, the most centered, and the most down to earth. And he was a damn fine guitarist to boot! For about .03 seconds, my heart flipped and I had a look of "Oh. My. GOD." on my face. But! I couldn't pass this up. I had to be cool, calm and collected. After all, I had to give him good customer service. I walked over to him and the young woman who had been his assistant.
"Hi, welcome to HMV, how can I help you?" I said as evenly as I could.
"Hi," he said in a very quiet, unassuming manner. "Could you please show me where your world section is?"
"Certainly!" I said, and started walking towards the section. "Is there anything you're looking for in particular?"
"There are a few new Ravi Shankar reissues out that I'd like to buy."
As luck would have it, I had JUST checked them into the system that morning. I found them and pulled them out, and handed them to him. "Here you go," I said. "Is there anything else you'd like to look for?"
He smiled and looked around. "I'll just take a look through here," he said, and nodded. "You know, I'm a bit frustrated by the price of these discs nowadays," he continued. "It's not your fault of course, but it's the fact that most of the money isn't going to the performers, it's all to the label."
I nodded and completely understood. "I totally agree with you," I said.
We chatted a little further--I also handed him a copy of the Buena Vista Social Club cd that had been such a big hit a few years previous, as I thought he'd enjoy it. From there, I left him alone and headed to the register. My boss happened to walk by and had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and I gave him a you did that on purpose, you bastard! smirk.
When George was finished, he came to the register and I rung him up. I gave him our employee discount (and let him know it) so he had a good 40% off his purchase. He paid in cash, of course. I handed him the change and smiled, and finally let my guard down. "It was a pleasure to meet you," I said. "And thank you." He stood there for a second and gave me his trademark lopsided smile. He understood, and I didn't have to explain. "Thank you for your help," he said, and waved to his assistant. They walked out of the store.
Two minutes later I was out back, calling my Mom, hands shaking, completely freaked out. I had just met a Beatle, and my childhood hero.
[NOTE: I sort of cheated here. Most all of my LJ friends know this story already and know what's true and what might not be (so don't give it away for the others!). I'm telling it here for the benefit of the Scintilla readers.]
I met one of my childhood heroes on April 12, 2000, when I was working at HMV Records. It wasn't the first time I met a famous rock musisian, as in the four years I'd worked there, I'd seen (or heard about) big name rockers popping into the store every now and again. I'd gone to various shows and stayed for meet-and-greets, or gone to signings.
The store was at the Solomon Pond Mall in Marlborough--kind of an odd place but a well-placed one. It's about 10 miles east of Worcester and 40 miles east of Boston, so it's kind of in the middle of nowhere. On the other hand, it's at the intersection where I-290 and I-495 meet up, so it's really easy to get to. For this reason, a lot of musicians who were playing in either town would stop by because it was out of town but close enough for them to retain a bit of anonymity.
My job was in the back room--I was the sole shipping/receiving clerk for most of the four years I was there. When I wasn't out on the sales floor helping various customers or ringing up at the register, or what have you, I was out in the spacious back room where I'd be pricing, sale-stickering, ordering, whatever needed to be done. It might have been a somewhat monotonous job for some people, but I absolutely adored it because I saw EVERYTHING that came in, which means that I got to hear albums before the drop date and listened to pretty much anything on the cd player up back.
On that day, however, it was a pretty quiet day. Not too much happening. I'd just gotten a visit from our UPS deliveryman, who would usually share some sordid or funny stories of things going on elsewhere in the building. He'd told me someone famous was in the building, but I didn't take him too seriously...it just sounded too farfetched. Not impossible--the person was apparently in the area, visiting a new-agey health clinic a few towns over--but I highly doubted he'd be here. I let it pass and went on with my work.
That afternoon, I was doing my usual work of checking in new product and listening to music, when I got a page from my boss who was up front.
"Jon, could you please come to the floor? Someone needs help in the world music section...they're over in the back corner."
I sat there for a second...first of all, our world music section is terribly tiny, and second of all, it's the one section I know the least in our store. Third of all, the world section was near the registers, not in the back forty where it used to be. But I figured they were busy up front, so I shrugged and made my way out. I stepped through the back door and looked for a lost client.
And found myself looking at George Harrison.
Now, mind you, I'm a HUGE Beatles fan, and had been so since I was a kid. He was a hero to me, more than the other three in the band. He was the most spiritual, the most centered, and the most down to earth. And he was a damn fine guitarist to boot! For about .03 seconds, my heart flipped and I had a look of "Oh. My. GOD." on my face. But! I couldn't pass this up. I had to be cool, calm and collected. After all, I had to give him good customer service. I walked over to him and the young woman who had been his assistant.
"Hi, welcome to HMV, how can I help you?" I said as evenly as I could.
"Hi," he said in a very quiet, unassuming manner. "Could you please show me where your world section is?"
"Certainly!" I said, and started walking towards the section. "Is there anything you're looking for in particular?"
"There are a few new Ravi Shankar reissues out that I'd like to buy."
As luck would have it, I had JUST checked them into the system that morning. I found them and pulled them out, and handed them to him. "Here you go," I said. "Is there anything else you'd like to look for?"
He smiled and looked around. "I'll just take a look through here," he said, and nodded. "You know, I'm a bit frustrated by the price of these discs nowadays," he continued. "It's not your fault of course, but it's the fact that most of the money isn't going to the performers, it's all to the label."
I nodded and completely understood. "I totally agree with you," I said.
We chatted a little further--I also handed him a copy of the Buena Vista Social Club cd that had been such a big hit a few years previous, as I thought he'd enjoy it. From there, I left him alone and headed to the register. My boss happened to walk by and had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and I gave him a you did that on purpose, you bastard! smirk.
When George was finished, he came to the register and I rung him up. I gave him our employee discount (and let him know it) so he had a good 40% off his purchase. He paid in cash, of course. I handed him the change and smiled, and finally let my guard down. "It was a pleasure to meet you," I said. "And thank you." He stood there for a second and gave me his trademark lopsided smile. He understood, and I didn't have to explain. "Thank you for your help," he said, and waved to his assistant. They walked out of the store.
Two minutes later I was out back, calling my Mom, hands shaking, completely freaked out. I had just met a Beatle, and my childhood hero.
