Seriously, kids. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried (Plus, it wouldn't be as much fun.). I overheard this conversation last night when I was leaving the opening for Wild Girls at Exit Art. Comedy gold, my friends. Comedy gold.
Clearly An Important Fellow (with bluster): Excuse me. Can my driver come in? I have a driver outside.
Woman at Front Table (knocked a tad off-balance by request and bluster): Well. Yes. Of course. This is a public event. Anybody can come in.
Clearly An Important Fellow: OK. (hold for the beat) I'm from Artnet.com.
8 comments:
Was it a rickshaw?
How is it there is only one comment on this post. Baffling!
Who knows. I woke up this morning with a blind desire to listen to Bob Seger. Life is a mystery, PJ. And rock 'n' roll never forgets.
Driver, singular? Clearly Important Fellows need more than one driver to ride in VIP fashion.
GP, Hello. And yeah, you're right. A real Clearly Important Fellow would have had an extra driver to watch the car while driver number 1 covered the Accompaniment Detail. I mean, what if that whole thing about the footsteps in the sand turned out to be just another pretty pastel poster?
this story causes a sharp pain in my "points of my own sitting way up high, way up firm and high" Actually, I think just hearing of this conversation causes my points to lose some their firmness.
Yeah. Painful, huh? Workin' on mysteries without any clues, Z. Workin' on mysteries without any clues.
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