I have Will Ferrell hair
Last Thursday Will Ferrell dropped by my workplace to plug his new movie, Stranger than Fiction. Whenever a big star like him is in the building, there are a few Bloomberg employees who somehow find out. Thursday was no exception. Hours before we taped the segment, another intern and I were bombarded by three such career sell outs. "Is Will Ferrell really coming today?" "Where do you guys tape?" "What time is he getting here?"
I wonder if Barack Obama donned an elf suit for a movie would there have been this much excitement for him?
Sadly, those three eager employees never saw Will. They found our green room and paced back and forth in front of it for awhile, pretending to take a tour of the floor ("And this is where Bloomberg radio is, you can see them doing a segment on air right now..."). But they missed his entrance and by the time they got into stalker position he was already in makeup. A couple of other people were able to ambush Will as soon as I brought him down our famous circular escalator. "Hey look, there's Will Ferrell!" a dopey sounding guy yelled as nonchalantly as possible (as if he wasn't waiting for him). He and his co-worker then ran up to Will with Talladega Nights pictures that they printed out from their desks. Will politely signed everything for them.
Talking to Will Ferrell was great because he puts everybody around him at ease. When I introduced myself he asked if we met before. I told him we met at an SNL after party a few weeks ago (the John C. Reilly show) and he remembered ("Oh yeah, upstairs, right?"). He then looked at my hair and asked if I was wearing a hat that night. I told him I wasn't, but that my hair was a lot shorter and he said, "Yeah, cuz I don't remember your hair being so curly." I guess he doesn't meet a lot of people with hair like his. I don't either. Unless I'm at Synagogue.
During our conversation, we talked about the opening of the movie and the impact that Borat would have on Stranger's box office numbers. He advocated that I buy a ticket to his movie and sneak into Borat. Saturday, I stupidly did the exact opposite, giving money to a movie that couldn't possibly need anymore and stealing from a movie that came in in a sad fourth. Shame on me, I know. But I promise the next time I run into Will Ferrell, I'll give him the 15 cents he would've earned had I paid to see his movie.
To make things even worse, Saturday was the first time I've ever been called out on buying senior citizen tickets. As usual, Katie and I went to the automated ticket machine and selected two senior tickets (total savings= $6). We confidently handed over our tickets to a portly, high-school aged Hispanic male. And he proceeded to inspect those fucking tickets like it was the most important job ever. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nah ah. You got the wrong priced tickets." "What??? Where does it say that? There must be some mistake here!" "Right here (points to the $7.50 price). Right next to the word 'Senior.' You gotta take these back and get the right ones." Damnit! We've used senior tickets over 50 times and never had a problem. We always get a little scared when ticket takers look closely at the tickets and say, "Can I see some ID?" But as soon as we prove we're at least 17, that's the end of that. No more questions asked. And now this guy comes along like an elementary school hall monitor drunk with power. Well that's the last time you hear from us AMC Loews 34th St!