I saw the bellhops, I saw the luggage, and I saw a man standing in a puffy jacket. With a tribal face tattoo.
It happened in New York during my senior year of high school, while my older and much cooler cousin was visiting me from L.A. I'm from Jersey, and there isn't much to do there other than shop at one of our many malls. As my cousin is from L.A. (and used to much more exciting things than people-watching while eating Sbarro's pizza), I suggested we spend the day in the city, and possibly use my dad's museum membership to see some dinosaur bones. I don't think they have those in L.A.
After we'd exhausted the museums, we were walking past the Waldorf, where there was a limo parked on the street with six bellhops unloading duffel bags and big black suitcases. Our heads turned out of curiosity, as limos usually equal famous people, but we didn't see anyone in the car so we kept on walking. Then we heard the sleaziest voice say the creepiest words ever: "Heyyy, schoolgirls."
Katie just kept walking, but hell, I wanted to find the source of the catcalling. I saw the bellhops, I saw the luggage, and I saw a man standing in a puffy jacket. With a tribal face tattoo.
We doubled back and Katie, now in paparazzi mode, got out her camera and asked for a photo. He giggled in that infamous high-pitched tone, and said, "I knew you schoolgirls would come crawling back." I forced myself to ignore the gross comment. I wanted to enjoy the moment; this was my first celebrity encounter. We thanked him, and before he went inside I glanced at his ears to see the damage from that famous fight so that I'd have a better story to tell.
When I saw they were both whole, I realized that Mike Tyson wasn't the victim, but the perpetrator. Nice.