As Stas-my cameraman, Matt-my Producer, and I are eating lunch at the Farmer' Market on 3rd Street, I look up to see an elderly gentleman slowly walking by our table, starring intently at the two video cameras occupying one half of our table. I smile at him and resume eating. Out of the corner of my eye I see him wander away. Not 5 minutes later he is back to lurking in the walkway. I have a sneaking suspicion he is wanting to ask what we are filming and when I make eye contact again, it is his invitation to amble over and say, "Do you like art?" while slapping down a used LACMA ticket on the table in front of me. Not expecting the question, I sputter, "Sure." Matt and Stas just stare off in any direction not pointing to the man. "Well that ticket's good for the rest of the day if you want to go see some good art," he informs me. I briefly glance down to discover the ticket has been expired for an hour and a half and tell the guy, " I love art, but I'm just on a lunch break so I don't have time to go today."
The old guy's not detoured, "You guys from the news station?" he looks to all of us. "Um, no. We're filming a Mayonnaise Commercial," I say. A bunch of people in college told me that if someone ever asked you what you were filming, you should mess with their heads and say you're shooting a mayonnaise commercial. I think the intent is to see what people will believe. I decided now was the perfect opportunity. "Really? What brand?" the old man asks. "Mayo," I blurt at the same time Matt says, "Best Foods." The guy looks from me to Matt questionably, but is not put off from asking us more questions. "So you do commercials? That is great. My son is an artist and is always looking for people to take pictures of his work." He then produces a business card with a painting of the Eiffel Tower and a couple people standing in front of it. Me, being the nice person that I am, inquires, "is that your son's painting?" "Yes. He went to Paris a few years back and painted this. You see the man in front of the Tower?" he points to a blurred blob with a top hat, "that's the Mayor of Paris. And that woman talking to the Mayor," he touches a whirl of blue and gold, "is my son's wife. And right there," a long boney finger glades over a brown blur walking a white fuzz circle with four legs, "that's me and my dog Fifi." He smiles proudly. "Here, you can have this," he presses the card in my hand.
“Do you have a business card?" "I'm not sure. one sec." I pull my backpack on to my lap and start riffling through the numerous overstuff pockets of batteries, pens, lip-gloss, a dead calculator, and many more useless and unhelpful things that don't resemble a business card. Matt and Stas are looking at me like I've lost my mind. I doubt they would have even looked for a business card. They probably would have just said, "sorry, all out," and went back to pretending the suspicious red spot on the table was truly fascinating. I peer back up at the man and politely tell him I've left my cards in my other bag. "Well how are you suppose to get business if you don't carry your business cards on you?" he asks. “Good point. I'll remember to carry them in the future," I respond. “Well if your ever looking for someone to photograph, let me know. Have a nice afternoon." "You too," we all mutter. He smiles and is gone.
“Well that went on far longer then I thought it would,” Matt exclaims. “I know. Weird guy,” Stas comments. “Yah, that’s typical for me. I usually end up talking to all the weirdos. It’s like they’re attracted to me for some reason,” I tell the guys. “Yea, sure” they both say. We all go back to finishing our lunches and eating an ice cream cone before getting up to leave. As we’re walking out of the marketplace the old man pops up in front of Stas thrusting a piece of paper. “I just wanted you to have this,” he waves the new business card in front of Stas’ face, “It’s my dog Fifi’s License.” “What,” Stas stammers. “See,” a finger points at the picture of a white Shih Tzu-ish looking dog, “That’s Fifi and this is her name here,” points to the name on the license, “Isn’t she adorable? Here,” pushes the license into Stas’ hands, “Have it.” “Um, thanks,” Stas cocks his head. “Ok, have a nice day,” and the old man is gone.
“Quick, lets make a circle around the food court and see what else the man will give us,” Matt jokes. “Um, I opt we leave while we can,” I say. We headed out with an expired LACMA ticket, an artist’s business card, and a Dogs license card, but no more interruptions. I have to say it was an interesting lunch.
