The story you are about to read is true – on some timeline or another, I suppose. The names, places and events have all been changed to protect the ignorant; that would be me.

It was a rainy Saturday night when inspiration hit me – along with bits of hail. It was a real chicken or egg scenario; had the inspiration came before I was knocked out by sky ice or had that H20 cannonball dislodged a blockage of creativity?

If the latter, you might say, “Hail broke loose that night.” *wink*

It would have been grand if that inspiration was for the next $10 million dollar Shark bait, or a TV show featuring chimps in clothes recreating popular 90’s sitcoms. “Could I be any more primate?”

But no, it was for yet another crazy stunt, this time to travel to England and get in front of one of my favorite directors, Edgar Wright. You might be too Spaced to remember him but trust me, he’s Hot…Fuzz.

My schemes never work, I’m usually busted by some wacky kids with a talking dog. Curse you Stewie and Brian!  So why would this time be different? Well, for starters I was travelling to Europe, and I didn’t think they were syndicated there yet.

And secondly, because I was going to appeal to Mr. Wright’s sense of mentorship, compassion and paying it forward. And if that didn’t work, I’d appeal to his sense of smell. Like douse myself in enough perfume, smelling like a French whore, you know, blend in with the locals and strategically make my move like a Baby Driver.

I arrived at his office in London, which was NOT located inside Buckingham Palace. I know, I checked. Oh, and surprising to me, they had no mechanical bull. Crazy, I know, they must get a lot of confused tourists.

Once I found the correct location I moved forward with Phase One – Misinformation. I’d ever so suavely charm the receptionist with my cleverly contrived concoction of ‘having an appointment.’ I’d laugh with Letterman, months later regaling him with my exploit and how this bold move was the springboard for my illustrious career in cinema and how Edgar and I are such good friends, buddies, pals, that we have matching tattoos…on our asses so if we were cheek to cheek if it were, the two halves created one…you know, it might be better if I leave it at that.

Unfortunately, the matronly secretary was herself misleading, looking all sweet and shit while her actions were anything but, rejecting requests like a world class goalie.

“I have some documents that need signatures.” – DENIED!

“Candygram.” – REFLECTED!

And then that dreaded moment, I heard someone say, “I have an appointment.” And in slow motion I saw her eyes narrow, her fingers begin clicking and the computer screen change.

Her words haunt me to this day. “You’re not on the list.” The young man immediately burst into flames!

No, wait, tears, he burst into tears while she cackled like a sea hag…okay, that last part played out in my mind but it was still pretty scary.

My feet were like lead, my confidence wavered, and I threw up in my mouth a little bit, but I hadn’t driven this far to be turned away. Oh no, I strode right up to the desk and squeaked.

“I have an appointment.” Her eyes began to narrow, the clicking on the keyboard sounded like insects clattering and the screen changed.

“You’re not on the list,” she blasted me with a Scott Pilgrim 65 hit combo and I faltered but didn’t fall.

“Can you check again, please, because I’m sure I have one and it’s for today.” Her fingers thrummed loudly on the desk, and she sighed. A real heavy sigh like she was discarding the spirits of those who had fallen before me.

“You’re—”

“I’ve come so far—”

“Not—”

“A 29 hour flight—”

“On—”

“Made a wrong turn-Broke so many laws—”

“The—”

“Spent my savings–Please don’t finish that statement!”

“List. You’re not on the list, I’m sorry.” It was probably my imagination but I thought I detected a slight change or a twitch that belied that uncaring granite composure. Then again it could have been the sneeze.

“Bless you.” I offered. She eyed me with curiosity.

“Your perfume,” she stammered between achoos.

“It’s lovely right? I’ll give you a bottle—no, they confiscated it at the border. Give me your address I’ll send it to you.”

“I’m allergic.”

“To the imbalances of equality, right? So am I.” I leaned closer. “Look,” I glanced at her nameplate, “Shaun, have you ever had a dream? Like an all-encompassing, bigger than life itself longing that you had to fulfill otherwise what was the point?”

“No.”

“Well, I do, and it’s brought me all the way across the Pacific Ocean just to meet with one man, a man who holds my destiny in his hands, a man who can say ‘yes’ when others have said, ‘no’…or at least might have if I had asked.”

“Excuse me—”

“No, excuse me for thinking I mattered. It’s a harsh world out there, Shaun, full of the dead…in spirit, not actual corpses, that would be horrific. Look, you can’t turn me away, I have nowhere else to go. I spent all my savings to get here; I’ll be left on the streets in a land where I don’t even speak the language!”

“We speak English.”

“Exactly, I have no idea what anyone is saying! I might as well be in Canada!’

“They also—”

“I will be forced to burn the many pages of my literary legacy, not literally because they are on my laptop but figuratively, anything to keep warm on these cold and cruel—”

“One moment please.” She picked up the phone and held it to her ear for just a tiny moment in time but it’s the longest moment I’ve ever experienced. “Okay.” She smiled broadly.

“Okay?” My heart raced with happiness!

“Mr. Gaiman will see you now.” And then my heart plummeted over a cliff, hurling towards the ground and exploded into a fiery ball of disappointment.

“Ummm, yeah, I gotta run. Have a nice day!”

To be continued…