She turned her attention toward me and, without skipping a beat, introduced me to her companion as the "young lady who gets her coffee."
While attending college at USC, I worked at the Starbucks in West Hollywood described as the gayest that Santa Monica Blvd. has to offer.
I had been watching Janeane Garafolo order lattes for about a month before I had a chance to talk to her. Then one evening, I dressed in drag to attend an open-mic amateur night at a club on Robertson. Looking up from my cocktail as I sat at the bar, I said hello to Janeane, who sat on the stool beside me. She turned her attention toward me and, without skipping a beat, introduced me to her companion as the "young lady who gets her coffee."
I explained that I happened to be dressed in drag as part of an acting exercise I was doing to hold character. Because I was often sent out on auditions for roles requiring a gender displacement, being undetectable was necessary. I told her I had often seen her carrying boxes down Fountain Ave., which she explained was part of an exercise regime. "I want people to think I am moving, but I am really only working out," she said.
I found it rather odd but expected nothing less from the kooky comedienne. She invited me to stay and watch her friend perform, noting that I might recognize the tarty redhead from her role on Suddenly Susan, the Brook Shields sitcom. I admitted that I had seen her but secretly wasn't entirely thrilled.
Years later, when Kathy Griffin's My Life on the D List achieved an Emmy and worldwide fame, I fought back tears as I remembered the way I casually passed up a chance to meet the irreverent funny lady in person. Janeane and Kathy had been friends since meeting at the Groundlings. Lisa Kudrow was among their castmates. Kathy was the last to achieve groundbreaking fame.
For the rest of the time I worked at Starbucks, I fostered a rapport with Janeane that transcended drink orders. How I have since yearned for a date with Kathy.
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