My story is better than yours

Have you ever had a conversation with a friend and you're telling them a really great story. You know, something big happened to you that day - maybe you got a new job, or a raise, or your wife just had a baby. Your story is so impressive and fantastic that you are holding them in rapt attention. All is going well until it happens. The dreaded "story topper." Suddenly, your job offer or first born child doesn't seem so special. Your friend has just owned you and dropped a seriously better story. All you can do is stand back and let their story make yours fade into the past...like it never happened. Well, I have one of those stories. A story so awe-inspiring that I only use it in case of emergencies or whenever I'm feeling the need for some serious attention. Who am I kidding, everyone I have come into contact with for more than 30 minutes in the past 8 years has heard this story. However, I'm holding out hope that there might be one or two of you who haven't heard this yet and will read this like it's the blog post to end all blog posts. Here's a teaser: I met Paul McCartney.

My average "story topper" conversation goes like this (witness the power it has):
Someone: "Hey Lisa, you'll never believe what happened to me today at work!"
Me: "I don't care because I met Paul McCartney"

Someone: "Oh my god! I just saw Lauren Conrad from The Hills shopping at the mall!"
Me: "That's awesome. Have you ever met Paul McCartney?"

Someone: "I just scored two tickets to the sold out Paul McCartney show tonight!"
Me: "Too bad you don't get to meet him in person..."

And it goes on. I've found it to be incredibly useful in all situations at any given time. Now that I have you insanely interested, allow me to tell you how this all came about one rainy afternoon in the year 2000. I was on vacation in London, England. It was my second trip to the UK and I was as excited as ever. I had recently fallen hopelessly in love with the capital city on a high school trip, and I couldn't bear to spend more than a year away. I begged my mom to take me back to London for a week-long vacation between semesters and she agreed. Since it was her first time traveling to England, we decided to fill our calendar with as many cheesy tourist attractions as possible. Double-decker tour buses, Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, fish and chips at every restaurant, you name it - we did it. Part of the British experience for her was visiting the homeland of The Beatles. Being the good baby-boomer that she is, she always had a deep love and appreciation for all things Beatles. Paul was her favorite and she wanted to see where it all began (well, at least where it all began in London. We wouldn't get to where it all really began until we visited Liverpool a few years later). I was raised with a strong appreciation for The Beatles, and not just their early work thank god, and so was more than happy to agree to a Beatles-themed tourist walk.

We met up with the group and our fearless leader, whose name escapes me now but is widely recognized as the world's most crazed Beatles fan and expert. The plan was to walk around the city seeing all the necessary Beatles historical sites from their London residences, various venues, clubs they frequented, recording studios like Abbey Road, and even Paul McCartney's modern day office building. We ventured over to Soho where said office building is located. Our guide explained that this is the place that Sir Paul comes to work whenever he is in the city. Then he said that we shouldn't hold our breath for a sighting, but Paul did happen to be in the city that very day to attend the opening of the Tate Modern Gallery. In over 20 years of leading Beatles walks he had never spotted Paul and had only spotted Ringo once. The odds were sadly against us. We turned the corner from the office building and proceeded down a long, narrow street to an old recording studio. He seemed a bit distracted and kept glancing over his shoulder at the top of the road. Suddenly, he looked straight at us and said "Please, do not make any sudden movements or attempt to run towards him, but Sir Paul McCartney and his family are standing outside the office building." Cameras flew out, women screamed and a few tried to make a break for it. My mom and I stood frozen in place not knowing what to do. For a fleeting second you could see a man in a long coat walk into the building and disappear. We only knew it was him when a few minutes later his daughter and fashion designer Stella McCartney walked by us with her sister Mary. (side note: I've never felt like a bigger tourist/loser than when Stella McCartney walked by what was obviously a group of crazy Beatles fanatics walking around town staring at empty buildings).

The excitement was palpable, but the show was over. Our tour guide regained his composure and led us to our final destination allll the way on the other side of town, Abbey Road. Traffic was stopped, shoes were removed, and pictures were taken. The tour was over. We were on our own to find our way back to wherever it was we came from. My mom and I looked at one another and it was clear. If we saw Paul McCartney go into the building, he must also come out of the building. We grabbed our tube passes, ran to Paddington Station and took the train directly to Soho. I believe the time of day was around 3pm or so and being the rational person I am, I figured Paul must be planning to leave work around 5 like everyone else. Just enough time to get to the gallery opening that night. We grabbed a seat on a park bench across the street and waited...and waited...and waited. It rained, it drizzled, it nearly poured, but we weren't going anywhere. I noticed a lone man standing next to the office door and realized that he was an autograph seeker...we were hot on the trail. All that was between Paul and I was a glass door, one single person and a fairly busy road. A black town car with dark tinted windows drove around the park, slowing down for a second each time it passed the building. This, I correctly figured, was Paul's ride. He was planning to make a quick escape and I had to be on alert. A few minutes later I saw him about to exit the building and something snapped. I grabbed my pen and tube pass (all I had to write on), ran like the wind across the street without even glancing at the traffic, and came to a stop directly between Sir Paul and his car door. Shaking like a crazy person I stuck out my right hand and said something genius like "Mr. McCartney, it's so nice to meet you. Could I have your autograph?" He smiled and said "Sure! no problem", signed my tube pass and handed it back to me. Then he got in the car and drove away.

I wish I could tell you we had a long, meaningful conversation about the art of making music, or what really happened between him and John and Yoko, or why some of his solo albums are just so terrible, but we didn't. He was pleasant and gracious enough for even stopping for a crazy American teenager who had bolted out of the bushes and blocked his way. I stood on the sidewalk and waved to my mom. By the way, my mom never moved from her perch in the park. She said she intended to follow me with the camera, but when the moment came her legs just would not move. Luckily she had a long range lense and was able to take multiple snaps of Paul autographing my pass. The pictures aren't top quality, but you can tell who it is. Eight years later, she hasn't stopped kicking herself for not coming with me. I'm sure Paul would have stopped for one posed photo and I would have had a really awesome photo too. Alas, we all have our own reactions when faced with intense situations. My mom stands in her tracks and I run after people like a crazy person.

So that about wraps up my claim to fame story. I didn't stop shaking for the entire day and I still get a funny feeling when I think about it. When I had the opportunity to see him in concert a few years ago, the craziness of the situation really hit me. Here I was at The Palace, surrounded by 20,000 screaming fans watching one of the most talented songwriters of all time perform, and a few years earlier he and I were standing on a sidewalk in Soho, London with no one else around. Things like that boggle my mind.

I wish I could post the picture and autograph, but it's basically locked away at my parent's house in a fireproof safe. Maybe someday I'll find a way to transfer it online and then, of course, every single person I know will get their own copy of it. Happy Friday!!