Being Jack Nicholson
Back in the day, I was a waiter at a high-end restaurant in Los Angeles. Seeing the occasional Hollywood star wasn’t out of the ordinary.
One of my waiter coworkers (a new guy) comes rushing over, looking pale but buzzing with excitement.
New Guy: “Dude, I think Jack Nicholson is at my table!”
Me: “What? Are you serious?”
New Guy: “I swear it. Look, table four; that’s gotta be him, right? Should I ask for an autograph?”
Me: *Glancing over.* “…oh. Oh, yeah! Totally Jack Nicholson. He loves being called “Mr. Nicholson,” and if you really want to flatter him, bring up One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Classic.”
The waiter nods, psyched out of his mind, and spends the whole meal treating the guest like Hollywood royalty. Finally, when the check is signed, he comes back clutching a napkin. I see the conversation happen from a distance, with our customer looking thoroughly confused but amicable during the entire interaction.
Later:
New Guy: *Confused.* “Okay, so… I got the autograph. But he seemed… really weird about it. And his signature looks… funny?”
I’m trying not to laugh.
Waiter: “…what?”
Me: “That’s because it doesn’t say Jack Nicholson. You just called John Malkovich “Mr. Nicholson” and told him how great he was in a movie he was never in.”
The new guy freezes, face draining of all color. The rest of us burst out laughing. Years later, we still tease him by yelling, “Here’s Johnny!” whenever he walks in.
