The Tin Roof is a bar/restaurant down on Demonbreun Street that I love because they have wrinkly fries. The folks down the hall took me there for lunch today and sitting on one side of us was Phil Vassar and on the other side was Cledus T. Judd.
Luckily, we had someone at our table who recognized all these folks, because I’m oblivious to the famous.
Let me tell you my Brad Paisley story.
We used to live out near the airport and our neighborhood grocery store was particularly neighborhoody, the kind of place where you get to know the bag boy and help his mom, the manager, make fun of him. The kind of place where they seem genuinely happy to see you and friendly.
So, once the Butcher, one of our friends, and I are at Granite Falls, another restaurant I love, back when they had the Patio Burger, which was, frankly, the best burger in town. They’d pepper-encrust the meat and then throw on some sour cream, onion, and baby spinach. It was awesome. They don’t have it any more and so I don’t go there as often.
But, back to my story. So, we get done eating and we’re walking out and sitting at the table by the door are three guys. One looks at the Butcher’s Beatles hat and gives him a thumb’s up. The kid in the middle looks very familiar and he’s smiling in that “yes, you know who I am” way that’s supposed to let you know that it’s okay for you to approach a famous person, I guess.
But I’m still not used to seeing famous people in real life, just out at restaurants and such, so I figure, if I recognize you, it must be because I know you. So, I’m wracking my brain, trying to figure out where I’d know some young kid like this from.
And, voila! I think he’s my bag boy. So, I say, “Hey, how you doing? Tell your mom I said ‘hi'” and I walk out of the restaurant.
The Butcher turns to me and says, “So, you know Brad Paisley’s mom?”
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