Paisley Imprint

I think he knew that I knew, you know? Because he started overcompensating in his politeness as well.

I took a gentleman's order through the speaker box at the Starbucks drive-through. He ordered a drink and a blueberry scone. "Absolutely," I chirped to him over my headset. "Come on up to the window!"

As I gathered his order, I realized we were out of blueberry scones. "Crap!" I thought to myself. "I hope this guy doesn't give me a hard time about the scone."

The man arrived at the window with his baseball-capped head down and his cell phone at his ear. I had to talk to this man about the scone situation, so I stood there smiling while I waited for him to finish his phone conversation. He didn't know I was waiting for him to wrap it up, so I got to look at him for a long time. He looked so familiar....

My inner dialogue went like this (verbatim): "Why does he look so familiar? Do I know him? Or does he just look like someone that I know?...No, he looks just like—oh, my gosh, it's Brad Paisley!"

And then I tried to be cool about it, trying not to give it up that I recognized him. This never actually works for me, because instead of being myself, I overcompensate in my politeness. I apologized profusely for the fact that we didn't have any blueberry scones and offered him a cranberry-orange scone instead. I think he knew that I knew, you know? Because he started overcompensating in his politeness as well.

He took the cranberry-orange scone, though he probably didn't even want it, and he thanked me for all my help and went on his merry way.

Nice man, that Brad Paisley.

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