Mile Nerd

Truth Or Consequences

Phillip is a corporate titan. He rules his kingdom from a corner office in the sky.

Imposing square footage? Check.
Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the water? Obviously.

Anxious employees rush in and out each day. Sitting nervously on his Italian leather couch. Feeling tiny under all that expensive artwork. Their tough boss always armed with a scowl and a growl. This big man and his big title.

Phillip plays the role to perfection. As he has for decades. The world sees him as a take-charge guy.

Driven.

Ruthless.

He’s nearly 60 years old now. And nobody has a clue that Phillip spent his life pretending. This show of strength. Power. How he wants to be seen. Only a few more years and it’ll be what they see all the way to his last breath.

They’ll never know how afraid he was of being alone.

Won’t see how terrified he was of getting hurt.

Will never realize he felt a million miles away from being a “take-charge guy.”

Phillip has been doing this dance for a very long time. And it’s not just for them.

This story he needs to tell.

–

Heather avoids calling herself an influencer…but loves being one.  

First thing she does each morning? A skilled edit of the day’s photos. She’s a phenom with filters. The Leonardo da Vinci of looking good. Her follower count keeps growing. Numbers rising at turbo speed. Heather basks in the warm glow of social media approval. She’s the recipient of envy. An object of desire. No minutes pass without a compliment on her appearance.

Before her morning coffee, Heather sits down to digitally alter her face. Day after day. The images posted with hashtags about self-love. Acceptance. She cultivates her page with such gusto. Driven by something she can’t quite express. Puts a positive word on it. Thinks of it as passion. But beneath the hashtags and flowery language lies truth. Heather is mortified by her impressive looks. She spirals deeper each day. Seeing new flaws and imperfections from an aging face – the stranger who stares back from her mirror.

Heather preaches vulnerability to her followers. Empowerment. Teaching them to put themselves out there. But the thought of actually doing that?

It fills her with panic.

This young woman who alters her face before allowing the world to see it.

–

Rick and Lauren cheer America as the greatest nation on the planet.

It’s far beyond opinion.

This is something they know to be true.

Something they can feel.

All the way down to the depths of their souls.

Berating anyone who disagrees.   

…this couple who has never stepped foot in another country.

–

Ray and Stephanie love each other.

For years, they’ve expressed it on a daily basis. Whether in-person, over the phone, or in written form. They see each other as the oxygen they breathe. Stephanie’s friends adore him. Ray’s family is her unofficial fan club.

They might as well be a single word at this point – RayAndStephanie.

Two peas in a pod.

Currently, Stephanie is hiding an emotional affair. And Ray is in a physical one. They stopped being able to communicate years ago. Now speaking from routine and habit rather than from their hearts. Ray knows he loves her. Even while entering another woman’s bed. Stephanie feels increasingly empty inside, but tells herself she’s in love.

Their actions no longer show it.

Their hearts look elsewhere.

But this couple fully believes the words that come from their mouths.  

–

Matt writes a daily blog.

Positive feedback pours in. Makes him feel like a Robin Hood of sorts. The generous giver. So, after a while, he starts defining himself as the guy who wants to help people.

Says it over and over again.

And the new identity feels wonderful.

So intoxicating, in fact, that he grows immune to seeing anything else. Blocks out any data that contradicts it. Becoming addicted to his drug of choice – identity.

This is who he “is.”

Matt is eventually unable to see any of the pain he causes. Unwilling to let it in. He’s Robin Hood, after all. How could he ever be the villain of a story when he’s the hero?

Matt grows adept at discarding bitter pills.

Choosing only the ones that are easy to swallow.

He has already decided which story to believe.

–

Juliette never makes waves.

She dresses…and speaks…crisply. Always behaves like a professional. Even when the people around her don’t follow suit. But that’s not for her to judge. And she never does. As a child, Juliette made her parents proud. As an adult, she’s a dependable neighbor, friend, and employee.

Never caused any problems.

Never met a negative performance appraisal.

Forever a good girl.

Based on all her feedback, Juliette is thriving. And the validation fuels her. So she stays perpetually in motion. It’s a trick she learned long ago – to distract herself from the pesky question…

What would happen if she spread her wings?

This makes her uncomfortable. She chooses safety. Over and over again. Locking her personality in a small box. For so long that she can no longer see what’s inside. Might it be a wild spirit? A rebel? Maybe even a creative genius? At this point, there’s no way to tell. The box is now a home. And Juliette hides inside as a prisoner of her own adjectives.

Still “professional” and “dependable.”

A good girl who no longer dreams of being anything more.  

–

Really look around.

In every direction. For as far as you can see.

We humans love to think of ourselves as self-aware. But we lie to ourselves to avoid the hardest feelings.

Usually not with bad intentions.

We do this to cope.

And guess what?

You do it too.

(So do I)

See, the only way to live an honest life is by looking at our own dishonesty. It’s just about the hardest thing we can ever do. But it’s sitting right there.

And you really won’t want to see it.  

The holiday season includes a lot of rewinding. Memories of fun times from 2024. The money you made. Bright images of the year. Vacations and belly laughs.

My wish for you is to be willing to see more than just what feels good.  

To spend a little time with the lies.

Those big ones you tell yourself.

Because a lot more growth comes from there than from your highlight reel.

Partly Cloudy

Man, some weirdos stick like glue to the stuff they like.

(Some weirdos = me)

Did I drive the same little Toyota for two decades? Yup.
Am I now over a dozen trips to Maui in the books? Better believe it.  
Do I still carry a Luxor room key from 1999 in my wallet? Obviously.

In fairness, about that last one…
Come on. A hotel really decided put Carrot Top’s face on a room key? Seriously?? I mean, an actual paid employee came to work and said, “Guys, this is the face people want to see as they enter their rooms.”
It just never stopped making me smile.

Anyway, you get the idea.

I stick with the stuff that works.

But even I realized it was finally time for a new couch. Watching Netflix is harder than it sounds. Especially when, over the course of a movie, it feels like you’re sinking in quicksand. Not quite sure how to describe the shape of that sofa after so many years. Is “blob” a shape?

Try to imagine the couch that Picasso would’ve painted.      

So, reluctantly, I went shopping.

Was it a totally fun and relaxing process? Yeah, maybe in Oppositeland. Honestly, when did furniture stores become such weird clones of each other? Is it a glitch in the simulation? This dizzying haze of all the same people selling all the same furniture. So many bad options. On a positive note, I now hold the world record for number-of-times-a-man-has-muttered-to-himself-walking-out-of-stores.  

Eventually, I pulled the trigger. Bought a cheaper version of Restoration Hardware’s “Cloud Couch.”

A perfect name.

In-store, it actually feels like sitting on a fluffy cloud.

And then it gets delivered. Which is when I quickly realized the difference between sitting on a cloud for two minutes versus two hours. Lemme put it bluntly…

Even more uncomfortable than The Blob.

Somehow, I’d found a brand new level of blobbiness. Never had a lower back issue in my life. But after 72 hours with The Cloud? Urgent need of a massage and a fistful of Tylenol. By the end of the week? Rapidly approaching nightmare status. Bending down was a new and interesting challenge. And forget about tying my shoes. That might as well have been an Olympic event. Man, it’s such a scary thing when your body experiences a brand new sensation of pain. Clearly, I’d made a terrible purchase.

(Oh, and it was from a furniture store with a no-return policy)

The walls were closing in fast. After the first week, I was a borderline Tylenol addict. Started lying in bed during the day just to avoid the couch as much as possible. Bracing myself each time I gave it another try. But the results were always the same. And my only reprieve was a weekend trip. The terrible hotel furniture felt like a gift to my body. I sat peacefully in that Hyatt…riding calm waves of relaxation that I could no longer find at home. Flipping through tv channels without a care in the world.

(At one point, I did have to turn off an episode of The Golden Girls because I was jealous of their flexibility)

Life was getting pathetic.

Two weeks into my dark new Cloud World, I called the store. Begging for help. They made it clear that refunds were impossible. But maybe a technician could come by to inspect the couch. Just to ensure nothing was broken. Wait, there’s a such thing as a couch technician? But, sure, yeah. Let’s do it. Maybe he can save the day…

The next morning, this dude walks in like he’s The Wolf from Pulp Fiction. I offer him water or a coffee. He refuses anything that might interfere with his work. It’s not a social call. He’s just here to handle couch matters. Does a detailed inspection of The Cloud and tells me that it’s up to standards. Can’t help but notice the desperation in my eyes. Or maybe the pain in my back. He looks me in the eyes and says:

“This is off the record. But you’re not the first person to have these issues with this particular item. Typically, it’s a senior citizen. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ll fill out my report saying the couch is fine. Maybe you can work something out with the store. I really doubt that, to be honest with you. Once it’s in your home, they don’t take back furniture.”

With that, he disappears.

A true master of the sofa. Off to his next overly dramatic inspection.

At this point, my brain starts to go haywire. My mind races. Is this just…life…now? As some dude who lives in fear of his couch? A sad schmuck who needs to buy Velcro shoes because he can’t bend down?

There’s gotta be a better way.

I drive to the store. A different man than I was 2 weeks ago. Now a broken soul with limited options and a Tylenol addiction. Doing my best imitation of The Wolf, I strut through those automatic doors. A man on a mission. Aaaand I’m rejected before I even have the chance to sit down. A manager tells me there’s nothing they can do once it’s in the home. I’ll need to call the main number and speak to customer service. But they never do refunds. In 20 years, he’s only seen a handful of times they offered a replacement item. It’ll be a major longshot. So, to recap:

– The Wolf said I’m screwed.
– This store manager agrees.   
– I’ll need a miracle to get a replacement approved.
– But everything else in the store is hideous.
– Oh, and their one cool item? It’s destroying my back like King Kong versus a blade of grass.

I stumble out of there. Limping my way back home. A defeated man returning to the couch that wants to murder him. Such a sad turn of events in a life that once held such promise. With zero optimism, I dial the customer service number. Best-case scenario? A replacement couch that only my grandmother would love.

After a long hold, I’m connected to a representative.   

I can barely recognize my own anguish-filled voice.

A very jolly Hispanic gentleman asks me for some details. He listens for a few seconds. Then informs me of their no-return policy. As if I can’t already recite it by heart. Although I’ve been calling it “The Cloud,” he reminds me that their version is actually called, “The Dream.”

And then he says:

“It sounds like The Dream is more like The Nightmare for you.”

I listen in stunned silence as he laughs joyously for the next 15 seconds. His accent is hard to place. Sounds like a goofy (and possibly drunk) Antonio Banderas. Ok, I didn’t expect much help. But he’s…laughing…at me?

This is very confusing. Then he suddenly gets dead serious. Tells me he couldn’t help but laugh because of how crazy the timing is. He knows exactly how I feel. Never had a back issue in his life but is currently dealing with the identical thing from a new mattress. He asks me to please continue my story. He listens with such genuine interest. It’s unreal. I can actually feel the care coming from this complete stranger. Almost as if he’s giving me a hug through the phone line. I blabber about Tylenol and massages for what seems like 52 hours.

Finally…mercifully…he cuts me off.

With his thick Puss And Boots-like accent, he says:

“My friend, it is an honor to speak with you. And I want to assist. It is our policy to never accept returns. But I will give you a full refund and will schedule a pickup in the next week. I feel so very happy to get the chance to do this for you.”

My jaw hits the floor.

Suddenly, the weight of the world is gone. Just rolls right off my back. And this goofy cartoon character of a man keeps taking care of me for the next 20 minutes. Saying things like, “All problems have a solution” and “It gives me such joy to be of service to you.” He tells me, “No matter what, I will not let you down.”

Is this real life or a scene from Desperado?

By the time I hang up the phone, my mood is in a completely different place. All stress gone. Poof. This quirky stranger has completely changed my day. Beyond the refund itself, I don’t recall ever feeling so much kindness on a customer service call.

Thank you, Alvaro.  

Ironically, speaking to you left me on such a high…that it felt a bit like floating on a cloud.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

I wake up bright and early.

Another night spent dreaming of untold riches.

I sleep the same way I live – driven, focused…a man and his mission.

Sitting up, I exhale any of the doubt that rests in my belly. Inhale the collective wisdom of business titans who came before me.

Will this finally be the day my ship comes in?

If I see it, I can be it.

Time for some morning crunches. Fitness in the body leads to strength of the mind. And a cash windfall to come.

The foundation for success? Confidence. I say a few affirmations aloud. Taking a quick look under my boxer briefs and nodding with pride.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Bounding to my feet as if launched by a rocket ship, I make my way to the bathroom. Time is money. Did I wake up with some aches and pains like all the other humans? Maybe. But I’m too focused on making my first million to feel any of that. Mind over matter. Gotta show this day who’s in charge.   

My mama didn’t raise no fool.

I splash cold water on my face. Catch a peek of my reflection in the mirror. Look myself right in the eyes. Much like the way Hugh Grant stared at Julia Roberts in the classic rom-com Notting Hill.

I fall in love with myself all over again.

This is how I begin each morning.

Time to get to work. Sun isn’t even up yet. An entire world sleeps peacefully while I’m on the hunt for financial freedom. Like a lion prowling across the jungle for food. Hungry for my pot of gold. Do I know exactly when lightning will strike? Of course not. So I stay laser-focused. Both eyes wide open.

This lion is always ready to pounce on the right opportunity.

I walk right past my coffee machine. Laughing at it as I boot up my laptop. People really need mugs of liquid energy?

Not this guy.

Already high on the natural caffeine known as life.

Any of my mornings could become the day. That’s why I keep all my bases covered. I’d rather die than let my Entrepreneur magazine subscription lapse. Go ahead, try to find an online deal forum I’m not subscribed to. Good luck with that. Better buy a scientific calculator if you want to add up the hours I spend chasing my home run. Do I listen to moneymaking podcasts? That’s like asking if a Kardashian likes selfies. This is what I do. I’m a hustler. By keeping every iron in the fire, I will eventually find my jackpot. Look, I even cut coupons and trim my own hair just to be able to throw a few bucks at memecoins that might explode. I’ve started dozens of businesses. Sit through countless seminars. Literally dig through piles of dusty junk at estate sales every weekend. Always striving for a big win. Treasure hunting. With as much passion as Leo DiCaprio in a roomful of 25-year-old models. If there’s a monetary bonanza to be had, you’ll find me nearby. My eBay feedback number? About as high as Warren Buffet’s net worth. All my waking hours are spent pursuing money. Looking for opportunities.

Mama didn’t raise no fool.

I woke up even earlier than usual today. A very rare schedule change. Had to get the daily hustling in before gametime. See, my parents are loyal sports fans. And, apparently, there’s some kind of huge home run record about to be broken today. Not sure of the details. And I’ll never understand why people enjoy sitting around watching other adults play with a ball. I think sports fandom might actually be a mental condition. Essentially paying money to waste time that could be spent making money. But it’s my mom’s birthday and she wants her son at the game…

Fine.

I’ll make this one exception.  

Yada yada yada, so I’m here at the baseball game and my parents are having a blast. Cheering along with the other fans. Me, I’m just trying to get some work done on my phone. Not an ideal office setup, but opportunities are always knocking. And I’m willing to turn over every rock to find them. On the other hand, these people around me are staring at a bunch of grown men wearing pajamas. Random strangers swinging a wooden stick. Then, out of nowhere, everyone starts cheering loudly. It distracts me from my treasure hunting – but only for a split-second. My focus is like that of a surgeon. Better believe I have the ability to refocus myself.

Wait, why is the entire stadium standing up in unison?

Everyone in my section is reaching for the ball coming right at us…

My own parents look like a pair of enthusiastic toddlers with their hands waving at the air.

Working diligently on my phone, I feel something bounce into my lap. A slight distraction from the workday. So, I grab the object – an annoying little baseball – and shove it into my jacket pocket. Then return quickly to my mobile treasure hunt. In the midst of all these overgrown children wrestling around me. Can’t anyone see I’m working here? Now the usher from my section wants to be involved. He asks me to join him in a private room. Apparently, none of these people have any respect for the pursuit of riches. A team executive hands me an autographed jersey in exchange for the ridiculous ball. Ok, fine, whatever. I really do need to get back to my seat. Gotta turn over the next rock.

After all, my pot of gold could be right around the corner.

I hurry back to my section. Should’ve pointed out the excruciatingly slow wifi in this stadium. Oh well. Too many lost minutes already. Really need to get back to work. But now my parents keep distracting me with questions about where the ball is. Why so much yelling and screaming? Sports fans. Always some kind of panic at these games. I refocus on my work…asking my mother to stop bugging me about the ridiculous baseball. Not like I even have it anymore. I point to the jersey I exchanged it for. Wait, why does she look so pale? Almost as if she’s seen a ghost.

What’s she saying? There’s no sound coming out of her mouth.

I lean in.

Try to read her lips…

And, in a breathless whisper, she cries out:

“I raised a fool.”

—

Editor’s Note:
Here’s my creative process with something like this…

1 – Reading an article about yet another working Joe who caught a baseball worth six or seven figures.
2 – Trying to comprehend why so many of these guys hand over a life-changing gift in exchange for some merchandise. Basically giving it away for a pat on the back – from a team worth billions.  
3 – My brain gets fried trying to figure it out.
4 – Pictures grow in my imagination. Becoming a daydream, maybe even a night dream. Eventually those pictures turn into a story that I share with you.

Anyway, that’s where this comes from. Have a great October!
(Oh, and if you happen to catch a baseball that could buy you a house…maybe hang on to it)

Her Autumn Journey

This summer with my husband? Dreamy months of endless bliss.

Romantic dinners, perfect sunsets

Always with a gentle kiss.

But seasons change – and so does he. Now it’s time to say goodbye.

To my sweet and charming gentleman

Who becomes an Autumn Guy.

Wrinkled jersey on his back, no longer fitted Ralph Lauren.

Both eyes on me just weeks ago

All free time now spent with men.

Those screams you hear? Pure agony. And then his shouts of glee.

Dictated by those linemen,

Whose bellies dance across TV.

That’s right, my friend, the games are back – yes, football has returned.

My summer man? A memory.

Our fall weekends all upturned.

These next 6 months? It’s pigskin time. Why do they call it that?

At least it’s minus one Tom Brady

Go Giselle, you’re no doormat!

This kicker looks so tiny. Oh, I hope he won’t get hurt.

My husband? Not as worried…

He’s eating pork rinds off his shirt.

Coffee table needing mercy. Under pounds of greasy food.  

An avalanche of wrappers,

I’ve never been less in the mood.

If I see another chicken wing, no doubt I’ll lose my mind.

Weird, this ref keeps missing calls

So, is he dumb or is he blind?

Oh no, I’ve hit this time of year. Can’t help but watch some plays.

Better grab my car keys quickly

Or else I’ll set this couch ablaze.

He doesn’t even notice as I race through our front door.

Tires squealing, engine roaring

While I make haste to the store.

You might scoff at decorations. Somehow on display so soon.

Who needs the spirit of the holidays?

It’s only 2 months after June.

I’ll tell you why I need them. All because of this damn game.

Without a festive, sweet diversion?

Oh, best believe I’d go insane.

The Dolphins and the Ravens. Then the Panthers and the Chiefs.

These games, they just keep coming…

Violence isn’t in my core beliefs.

I’m here as meditation. Staring at cute store displays.

Next a pit stop for some pumpkin spice,

Hot donuts with fresh glaze.

I wind my way back home to find my husband fast asleep.

Buried under empty wrappers

Stacked at least a dozen deep.

Remote in hand, last game still on, I start to turn it off.

Peace and quiet in my grasp now

Then I choke on my own cough.

Wait, crowd’s going wild, a minute left? The score is really tied? 

I can’t help but grab a pork rind…

And smile a little bit inside.

Different Flavors

The first time I worked with a famous person?

Over 20 years ago now…

See, network sitcoms are well-oiled machines. And I was still a fresh-faced kid from West Virginia. So that rehearsal week felt like being in a bustling laboratory full of scientists. A bit more laughter on a soundstage? Probably. But zoom out and you’ll see what they have in common. A team of experts constantly tweaking and experimenting. In this case, with the writing of jokes. And micro adjustments to the inflection of every word in a punchline. Precise attention paid to tiny details in costumes. A department whose sole focus is building and procuring the ideal props.

Day after day, each moment was worked – until the timing felt just right. Those tweaks often turned silence into belly laughs. It’s a very specific magic trick to get involuntary responses out of people. To pull laughter out of thin air. It required adjustment after adjustment. Hundreds of people trying to hit the right notes. Which is basically what it is.

A group attempt to get the “music” right.

After rehearsal week? Time for tape night. A live studio audience taking their seats, eager to watch the show. An energetic warmup guy hyping them up. But, down in the lab, the work continues on. A joke doesn’t land as expected? Teams of people huddle to re-craft that moment. Maybe even experiment with a new one. But the clock is ticking now. Just one night to figure it out before the opportunity is lost.

The star of this show? He was fresh off a decade of massive success. Part of arguably the most popular sitcom in television history. No shortage of pressure on his shoulders. The face of this new venture and also one of its producers. I noticed how everyone needed something from him. Person after person with questions and concerns. It seemed like an endless line of requests. Not to mention all the visitors to the set who wanted pictures or autographs – often just a moment of attention. It was exhausting to watch.

The thing is, he never seemed exhausted.

In fact, the opposite was true.

When I had a question about a camera someone was using…he popped in from out of nowhere with the answer. If I was silently working on my dialogue, he’d finish a conversation and then offer to run through the scene. And when my collar looked a little sloppy? He fixed it himself – reminding this very young version of me that my mom would be watching the episode. All of it was done with an encouraging smile. Was there an entire costume department to help me with my shirt? Of course. But I think he noticed an eager noob still so unfamiliar with those surroundings. He went out of his way to make me comfortable. Seemed to be his nature. The guy bounced around that set making sure everyone was taken care of. I guess he knew how fortunate he was and felt like it was the least he could do.

That’s just how some people are built.

You probably know the type.

I only saw him once after that. No live audience. No eyeballs. No need to impress anyone. Just a random run-in at a sandwich shop. And the guy was still every bit as kind. Same dude. Maybe even friendlier than before. I tried to thank him for making my early experience such a pleasant one. But he beat me to the punch. Before I got any words out, he was busy thanking me. For being part of the cast, adding to the fun, and so on. Then some teenagers started gathering around him for pictures. Never did get the chance to express my appreciation.

My first experience with Oscar winners?

It came soon after the sitcom taping…

Shiny gold statues. Just a small portion of the trophy case for both guys sitting across from me. A director in his prime and the legendary New York actor. The latter was a bit on the strange side. But, hey, people come in all flavors. His particular flavor? I’d describe it as introverted with a side dish of awkwardness.

To be fair, he was struggling with the material. A very old school guy who had to deliver a long monologue about technology. Literally a senior citizen. And, honestly, the majority of those words had probably never come out of his mouth before. Tons of jargon. So, he stayed very quiet. Mostly to himself. Just an old guy trying to do his job.

He kept trying.

And trying…

For the next 14 hours until we finally called it a day.

This continued for most of the week. A lot of revving up with nowhere to go. I started to wonder what the hell was happening. Never seen anyone struggle like that with dialogue. Especially a living legend. Is this really him? Was it smoke and mirrors for all these years and all of his brilliant performances? Or maybe this is just what happens at the age of 70. Maybe the old magic gets lost for good after a certain point.

But then came the moment…

We’d been at it for days. A challenging scene, no doubt. With precise timing needed on his part for the complicated camera moves. I begin by alerting him to a security breach in the system. He barks at me to get things handled before starting his massive dramatic speech. It just wasn’t working. And, suddenly, out of nowhere…days into this complete shitshow…his eyes light up. As if he knows something. Like a person about to strike oil. He stands up straight, looking like the younger, in-his-prime version of himself. This tired old man now suddenly full of electricity. And he barks his orders at me. Adding an improvised command:

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The entire stage shakes. My head jerks back and the hair on my arm stands at attention. This old geezer storms through his speech like a man possessed. Strutting around like a lion hunting for a meal. It’s absolutely incredible. And, just like that, all doubts and questions about his talent are forgotten.

Took him a while to get cranked up, but the man still had something inside of himself to give.

And so it went.

Year after year.

Over time, my adventures with recognizable people started feeling very normal. Honestly, the only thing that felt unusual was how the world viewed them. As if they were something more. Or occasionally something less. The truth is, they were just like the rest of the people I interact with. Some were great, others strange, with an occasional shithead. But the concept of fame started to confuse me. The way people tripped over themselves to worship or castigate these individuals. When they were just like any other group of coworkers. A full range of types. With nothing different but the made-up concept of “fame.”

No longer a noob, I’d sometimes even feel like the old veteran on a set. Like when the most successful comedienne in the world produced a show. She wanted to find work for her talented Groundlings improv friends. They didn’t have the same opportunities. Things had fallen in place just so for lightning to strike her life. But her buddies were comedic geniuses too. And they sat at home or worked in restaurants. Their world-renowned peer didn’t like it. Felt they deserved so much more. It was an inspiring display of friendship to observe. She went through the complicated process of getting that show made…taking time away from her soaring career…basically just to get them a gig. When I showed up on that set, they asked me questions for over an hour. Curious to learn more about other sets and shows. Trying to soak up information. Hoping to make their friend proud.

Other times, I grew dismayed. Like with the lead of a Fox primetime drama. A woman who barely looked up from her phone. She had the world in the palm of her hands but couldn’t be troubled to do her job. Instead, it was a nonstop stream of complaints. Which wore down the people around her. You could see it on their faces. Could feel it in the air. Her lunch wasn’t good enough, the days were too long, the budget too low…and whatever else could possibly bother a person. She focused on everything but the work itself.

Much like annoying coworkers we’ve had at other jobs.

You probably know the type.

Then there was the Oscar winner headlining a show she produced. Always the richest person in the room. One of 3 women from the last few decades who could be described as “America’s sweetheart.” She had every reason to half-ass it. But never once did. Like so many other busy people with a bunch of things in life to juggle. Trying to do her best to handle it all. In fact, what I remember most was her concern about her daughter who’d just started dating.

Much like every other mom at work whose mind is on her kids.  

You probably know the type.

Years went by. Some of these people stayed acquaintances, a few become friends, and most were just coworkers for a few days or weeks. A small handful were unpleasant.

Most were not.

Basically the same ratio as when we look back at any of our other jobs.

Are there some differences? Only with the icing. Never with the cake itself. For example, the most famous movie star in the history of motion pictures. Maybe the friendliest person I’ve ever met. To the point that I actually had to make up an excuse to leave our conversation and beat traffic. So, yeah, it’s wild to think that he’s also essentially a cult member. In a “religion” that takes advantage of people under the guise of helping.

But, really, how different is that?

How many people have we known who get stuck in something deeply dysfunctional? Haven’t you seen it over and over again in your life? Not exactly unusual to see a person get lost in something unhealthy.

Icing isn’t cake. These people are human beings. But, along the way, the world decided it was ok to see them as something else. This is a very strange dance we do. But it isn’t reality. And that’s why I’ve never written about this stuff. You’ll certainly never hear me use the word, “celebrity.” None of that noise makes sense to me. A person is a person.

These stories happened to be about some of the individuals from my work and in my community.

Not really any different from when I liked or disliked someone in West Virginia.

We get to know all kinds of types.

In your town, friends share their experiences with you, right? Colleagues they work with. Various interactions. No difference in these stories. It’s just that some of these people are names we know. For example, a friend of mine was a victim of Bill Cosby’s. A very nice older lady. She was lucky enough to get away from his attempted rape that day. But obviously it happened. My friend isn’t the type to make up a story. That’s not who she is. And what happens with fame is that sometimes people don’t want to believe facts. Something inside of them fights against it. They overthink…or underthink…because they get blinded by the bright lights. That’s probably the main difference. It just doesn’t happen in most towns when friends share information about their interactions.

For example…

My best friend is like a brother to me. He worked on the crew of a reality show for years. We were living together at that time. And the star of this show was an absolute nightmare. That dude added so much stress to my friend’s life. Weekly rampages that made the entire crew deeply uncomfortable. Regular disturbing rants about black people, gays, and women. Multiple occurrences of sexual harassment against the latter. His patented business move was hiring contractors but refusing to pay them in full. A classless guy in every way. No different than other shitty individuals polluting other circles in other towns.  

Well, this guy is now running for President of the United States.

Poof. Like magic, there are people who were totally into this post…who are now suddenly blinded by the lights. As if this was all made up. As if it’s nothing but lies and conspiracy theories. Look, I’m not into politics. I have no affection for either person running. Certainly don’t care how anyone votes. And, really, I have no desire to write about him again because I don’t even like thinking about the guy. But this man is, in fact, a total piece of garbage.

You probably know the type.