Confronting “Celebrities”  (a.k.a. Oven Mitt Boy)

Confronting “Celebrities” (a.k.a. Oven Mitt Boy)

It must have been 1997.  I was living in Los Angeles with my girlfriend (who some of you may now know as my wife Lisa).  One day my friend Joan from Minneapolis came to town on business. She was staying at some hotel a couple blocks off The Sunset Strip.  Apparently this was no ordinary hotel. In the hotel was a bar called The Whiskey. No, not the Whisky A Go-Go. It was just called The Whiskey.  

Joan had learned that The Whiskey was a special hangout for Hollywood celebrities.  Typically, common folk like us would not have been let into The Whiskey. But because Joan and her co-worker were guests in the hotel, we were allowed in.

When we went to the bar it was pretty empty.  There were no celebs there yet. So we sat there and enjoyed having The Whiskey all to ourselves for a while.  Slowly people started trickling in. No one that we recognized, however.  

This waitress approached us and said, in so many words, that we had to forfeit our table because they were expecting someone.  We presumed this to mean a celebrity of some sort was kicking us off of our table. It was no big deal to me, Joan or her co-worker.  However, my girlfriend Lisa was kind of miffed. Her thoughts were that we were there first. We were paying customers. Why should we have to forfeit our seats to anybody?

Regardless, I assured the waitress.  “As soon as the people arrive, we will leave.  Just let us know when they arrive.” The waitress agreed to this but she was obviously still anxious about it.  She was hoping we would leave right then.

The four of us had another round of drinks when the waitress came up and said, “You have to leave now.” 

 I replied, “So they’re here?”  

“Not yet.”  She said.

I calmly assured her, “Listen, as soon as they get here I swear we will leave.  Just tell us know when they get here.”

Again, she reluctantly agreed.

By this time, it was becoming apparent that The Whiskey was pretty much as advertised.  It was a celebrity hang out. Joey Ramone was sitting at a table with Billy Corrigan and James Iha of The Smashing Pumpkins.  Joan’s coworker and I got up to go to the bathroom and on the way out we saw the actor David Boreanaz–who at the time was starring in a TV show on The WB Network called “Angel.” 

The bathroom for the bar was through the hotel lobby.  As this guy and I walked through the lobby, there were several hot chicks just sitting there in sexy clothes.  They apparently were not allowed in the bar. So they sat in the lobby waiting to get picked up by some B-List celeb like “Angel.”

Anyway, this guy and I get to the bathroom and there was a pretty big line.  There was basically one toilet for the guys and one for the girls. We patiently waited in line until the men’s door opened.  These two yahoos emerged with shades over their eyes and cocky grins on their faces. One would have to be pretty naive to not believe they were doing coke in the men’s room.  As they passed us, we noticed one of them had an oven mitt on his hand. Me and Joan’s coworker looked at each other puzzled.  

“What was that all about?  Is that the new style around Hollywood these days?  I heard of Bozo noses, but not oven mitts.”

This guy and I go back to our table.  We tell Joan and Lisa about the dude wearing the oven mitt and we had a good laugh.  

Just then, the anxious waitress comes up to us again.  “You have to leave now. They’re here.”  

As promised we politely grabbed our drinks and walked toward the lobby.  When we got to the entrance, Lisa made us stop. She wanted to see who it was that we had to give up our seats for.  Low and behold, who do you suppose it was who took our seats? Yep. That’s right. Oven Mitt Boy. He and his “nose candy” buddy and two other dingleberries were the ones who took our table.

Joan, her coworker and I started laughing.  “You got to be kidding me.” Lisa was not amused.  

“Who the hell are they?  I don’t recognize any of those idiots.  And I work at Warner Brothers.”

Lisa promptly walked back to our table.  Joan, her coworker and I stayed back and watched.  “What the hell is she doing?”

We watched from across the room as Lisa leaned over wagging her finger at these guys.  She was clearly not being nice. Oven Mitt Boy took the mitt off his hand and proceeded to stick his middle finger in Lisa’s face.  Lisa was unphased. We had no idea what she was saying, but she was giving them the business.

Eventually, Lisa came back towards the rest of us.  “What did you say to them?”

Essentially Lisa just let them know that she was pissed about having to give up our table for a bunch of flash-in-the-pan nobodies.

To this day, I have no idea who Oven Mitt Boy was or what made him so special that we had to give up our table.

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