I met my writing idol David Sedaris. He is the one who inspired me to write funny personal essays. I didn’t know this was a writing genre when I started reading his books. I just thought he was writing about his life. The first book I read back in 2000, “Me Talk Pretty One Day,” about one day speaking French was laugh-out-loud hilarious. The second book I read in 2008, “Engulfed In Flames,” sealed my admiration for his talent and the desire to copy him, mom style. I wanted to write funny, mom-life stories. So I did; I started my blog shoezle.

When I heard the Lafayette Library was bringing David to town in May, I NEEDED to find a way to help welcome our guest. I have volunteered at the library for a little under a year in a variety of roles. When I got my ticket to see David Sedaris, I quickly emailed my new friends and offered to help with David: shine shoes, water girl, taxi driver, ANYTHING.

As it turned out, David is kind of fussy. Nobody was going to shine his shoes or get his water. No photos were allowed. The best job I could get was book-signing line manager and I thought that was pretty cool as I would at least be just a few feet away from my idol. I could take a mental photo to document my experience—a selfie inside myself.

Training for the job was minimal. I was given a pack of pens and personalized post-its, a tiny owl printed in a corner of the sticky square, a nod to his latest book, “Let’s Study Diabetes with Owls.” I was told David prefers his own post-its. Each fan was to write their name on the post-it and place it on the title page of the book, ready to go, no delays. I practiced with myself first, using my best penmanship. I wrote out my name in big black Sharpie letters. The lady training me said, “have them write their names and whatever they want him to say.” I did.

“Francie, I am so happy I inspired you to write.”

Then I explained the process to another volunteer who was hovering around the soon-to-be-filled author table. My guard was up with this guy. I was the only line manager for book signing. Didn’t he know? Why is he standing on my turf?

The Hover Volunteer had five books for David to sign so he asked me for five post-its. I let him do his thing and then we started talking to kill time until the author’s big arrival. He seemed really into the author like me, so I asked him, “Are you a writer?”

“No. I work full-time and I’m a dad. I don’t have time to write,” he laughed. “You write don’t you?” He had read my embarrassing post-it message for David, the one I shared as an example for his mountain of books. I kind of forgot this for a second, caught up in the moment of someone surmising I, too, was a writer.

As close as I could get to a photo with my idol.

“Yes! Yes I am. He is the reason I write!” He seemed friendly so I asked him to take a picture of me in front of the sign advertising the David Sedaris event, the closest I could get to a photo with my idol. I posted my faceback status with my new photo while he circled around just a few feet away. Then out of the corner of my eye I spied a stack of five books sitting on the author table. WHAT?!?

I grabbed my ONE book stored in my bag and carefully placed it in FRONT of his stack. I was going to politely wait until David arrived before presenting my book to him for signing. I’ll be darned if someone was going to snake a better spot after all the begging I did to get this awesome line-manager job—THE ONLY PERSON assigned to the job. I even left my son’s swim meet early so I could have this coveted position. I will see my son swim again but I most likely will not see David Sedaris this close, ever again.

I stared out the glass lobby doors of the movie theater where the event was held. A black, Lincoln Town Car pulled up. Two of our library head-haunchos greeted him, one towering over him the other standing eye-to-eye. I heard he wasn’t tall so I purposely wore flat shoes so I wouldn’t intimidate him when I hopefully shook his hand. I was going to joke with him about how I’m his bruiser for the night, managing his book-signing line. HA! I thought it was a good start.

David rushed into the auditorium for his sound check. Afterward, he sat down at his author table with his PR MAN and now three library head-haunchos surrounding him. The Hover Volunteer was back, right at the edge of the table. I was a few feet away, giving David his space, like a courteous fan should.

“Who is Francie?” he asked while holding my book open and reading my post-it note.

“ME! It’s ME!” I cried out. I hurriedly walked over.

“People don’t usually tell me what to write.” David said.

“Oh. Errr, ah, I thought I was supposed to save you time.” My face was pink as he scribbled his own idea of a message for me. He wouldn’t have known what to write without my “writer’s prompt.”

“Your cancer has just begun,” he wrote.

After writing my name a billion times, I’d shorten my name too.

I laughed and told him I knew exactly what he meant and thanked him. I didn’t push the “bruiser” line. I was feeling bruised by my ghastly book signing suggestion. The whole transaction took thirty seconds. My son’s swim would have taken 58 seconds with just as much wait time. It was a fair trade I thought. I got my prized signature, elated with my success. My mom probably felt the same way after snagging an autograph from her idol, Erma Bombeck. I wonder if chasing authors is in the gene pool or does history really repeat itself?

My mom met her idol!

It was time to open the doors. Fans filed into the lobby. The organized fans hugging books, stopped for a signature. I worked my line, front to back, handing out post-its and pens with my cheery instructions. It was chaotic. Repeating the long instructions and tracking down the pens was making me sweat with inadequacy.

About fifteen people were lined up for David to sign their book when I was told nobody else could line up. David would sign books after the show for as long as it takes. One of the library head-haunchos and I noted the big man in the light blue shirt and dark hair was the last one.

With every fan lining up behind the cutoff, I started my polite, “I’m so sorry. This man is the end of the line. David will sign books after the show for AS LONG AS IT TAKES.” My sing-songy message was working and people reluctantly turned away. Then a lady in a golden brown sweater said she had to get home to her sitter, could she please just try.

I’m a mom. I empathized. I told her she could try, but no guarantees. Little did I know, I was under watch. A library head-hauncho walked up to us and told the lady she had to wait until after the show. The lady looked at me like, “Can’t you do something? You are the one wearing the volunteer badge.” I looked at the head-hauncho and tried to defend a fellow-mom. No good. This was a black and white situation but the lady wasn’t going to move.

Next thing I know, the library head-hauncho is coming back with David’s PR man. He stood tall in his baby-blue sweater and spoke sternly, “DAVID WILL SIGN BOOKS AFTER THE SHOW…” Whoa. This line-management gig is SERIOUS. I just thought I was keeping people in a straight line. I didn’t know I had to be a true bruiser and tell people to come back after the show.   Some of the fans are my friends. Ugh.

Then I started over-explaining. “I’m sorry. David can’t sign any more books before the show. I hate to sound like a meanie head but they are SERIOUS about this. I’ve been in BIG trouble TWICE for breaking the rules. He’ll be here after the show for AS LONG AS IT TAKES….,” I say this as they trail off into the auditorium saying, “It’s ok. It’s ok. Really. I was just asking….”

I hate getting into trouble. I was watching the line as carefully as I could. Those pesky fans are CRAFTY and RELENTLESS. Somehow the blue shirt guy dropped out. I didn’t notice who was in front of him so I had to trust the bulge of people at the end were already there. The group of four stood side-by-side, as if one of them, a son, was escorting his elderly mom with some of his friends.

“Are you all together?” I ask.

“Yeah. We’ve been here the whole time,” the “would-be son” says to me without looking at me, staring straight ahead. The tone was slightly sarcastic. It looked plausible, that older lady clouded my judgment. Later I noticed they separated off into their own groups to enter the theater. Duped.

A twenty-something lady with long silky black hair, black shorts, very tan legs and short boots attempted to get into the line. Shorts? It’s freezing out! I gave her the speech, without apology. “David cannot sign any more books, blah, blah.”

“I just want a picture. It will only take a second.” She says this to as if she knows him and I am just an idiot volunteer with a florescent green tag stating my title. She was crazy and bold; now I know why she could wear shorts in 48 degree weather.

“No. No pictures.” I’m a little irritated now. I couldn’t get a picture. The sign says no pictures. READ THE SIGN. YOU ARE NOT GETTING A PICTURE.

She stood off to the side prepping her phone, holding it close to her body, behind her bulky, black leather bomber jacket. She was just waiting for me to turn my back. I didn’t. I kept watching her.

A few more people must have gotten in line as I watched because the baby-blue sweater PR MAN was back. He looked straight into my eyes and said, “Another person just slipped into line behind you.” He must have grown a third eye for his job. David Sedaris fans ARE CRAZY and SNEAKY—even in my hometown. Managing a book-signing line is like managing a brood of preschoolers: one is always up to no good while you manage another. I am seriously out of practice now that my boys are teens. I recalled the days I wished I were an octopus with multiple arms and eyes.

Finally, the last person got through, whoever it was, and my job was over. A library friend gasped with me as she realized how hard my job was to do. I was glad for the sympathy as I felt I failed. I dashed into the theater to sit with my friends and enjoy David read his essays.

He was delightful. He read with theatrics making his brilliant writing come alive. I’ve always loved his writing for entertainment. Now I love his writing from a writer’s perspective. I realize how incredibly creative he is, weaving interesting stories from completely non-relatable events, i.e. feeding his fatty, benign tumor to a snapping turtle living in the water near his vacation home. It’s one thing to find the perfect word choice as a writer and quite another to have the gall to do things to make an interesting story even more interesting.

Part of his show was reading a list of absurd things his fans have said to him in his book signing lines. Boy. Don’t I know it! My experience was just the tip of the iceberg. I have to hand it to David, he appreciates his fans and does the best he can to show it, but with boundaries. He’s not fussy at all. He’s just taking preventative measures because he knows his fans just might be more bold and crazy than David. I guess I’m learning yet another talented side of David: kind and controlled fan management. I might need it someday.