I was mildly excited about the upcoming podcast release featuring my original song “Model Woman” and other material when I left the house late in the morning to mow the lawn and do other yardwork. I was chuckling to myself over the absurd idea this could be my last chance to do such things without the paparazzi analyzing every aspect of my technique, or worse, criticizing my attire!
I had barely mowed a twenty foot strip of parkway before two kids no more than fifteen ran up to me with a tiny HD/video camera and microphone, stopping directly in my path. Surprised, I released the safety clutch on the mower and yelled out, “Watch out, you idiots!”
“Mister Celebrity, Mister Celebrity!” The young girl shouted, waving the mic under my nose. “What’s it like to have a young superstar like Justin Bieber as a fan?”
“I wouldn’t know...” I said honestly. “Justin Bieber? Really? Why would he be interested in me?” I shut off the mower.
“You have a new song out, don’t you?”
“Not presently,” I replied, still honestly.
“We were told you wrote a new song ‘Model Woman’ and it’s supposed to be a hit?”
“Where did you hear this?” I asked, a bit disappointed the surprise was spoiled early.
“Last night,” the teenage boy holding the camera answered.
The girl nodded, “It’s true. The ‘Beeb’ called and wanted us to get the first interview.”
“Because we’re cheap,” the boy replied. “We’re getting fifty bucks... We’re hoping Justin will want to meet us...””
My mind was trying to figure out what was going on when I had a hunch. “Did you talk to Justin Bieber yourself?”
“No... My Dad took the message as I was doing homework. He said ‘The Beeb’ was willing to pay us, and our teacher would give us credit...”
“I think you’re mistaken. I’m willing to bet you were hired by the B.B.C.”
“What’s that?” the junior reporter asked.
“Short for the British Broadcasting Corporation...” I elaborated. I surveyed blank stares on the face of my pubescent interrogators. “Also known as ‘The Beeb’ in England, throughout Europe and the British Commonwealth.”
I smiled a wry and ironic smile. The amateur remote News Crew looked at each other as if they had been duped.
“Don’t worry,” I told them. “I’m sure your teacher will still give you credit. In the meantime, I’m going to continue mowing the lawn, so you’d better get out of the way...”
“Then you’re really No Celebrity?” They finished, looking dejected. It was obvious they weren’t going to meet Justin Bieber anytime soon.
“That’s right!…’” I laughed and pulled the starter cord. “Now get out of here...” -jwc