A friend of a friend plays in this band - you might have heard of them, but probably not. Anyway, this guy, Damien, is your typical scruffy rock dude. And on Friday he went out, got roaring drunk and decided a bite to eat would help him sober up.
He went to Macdonalds on Bourke St and promptly fell asleep. He was woken by a young male policeman telling him to get out. Which he did. And crossed the road to Hungry Jacks, where he fell asleep again. And was woken by the same cop, who'd lost his cool now and gave him the "you're nicked" routine, dragged him out, called for backup (bit overenthusiastic there) and handed him over to the two female cops who showed up.
Once PC Plod had left to continue his one-man mission to clean up the streets of Melbourne, the two new constables apologised profusely for his behaviour, and offered to drive Damien home in the van. He was pretty pleased, but was a bit lost when, during the trip, they kept on saying how they were his biggest fans. Huh? And then they asked why his ID had said Damien Whatever instead of his real name. He told them that he used a stage name. Could they get an autograph, they asked?
And gradually it dawned that they thought he was Nic Cester, lead singer of Jet. So he played along.
To the point where when they dropped him home, he ran upstairs, found his copy of the Jet CD and signed it for them.
Signed it Nic Cester, of course.
I feel so sorry for those poor fans. But at least they had their brush with greatness, even if it was a hollow one.
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4 comments:
I can relate, as Nic Cester often mistakes himself as being me.
Does God often mistake itself as being George Burns? This is a question theologists have pondered for decades. Two at least.
Does this mean I can no longer pass myself off as Nic Cester in order to gain access to the 'latest' soirees?
O' course you can. Just not police functions.
Think you'll have to work on the natty three-day growth, too, Ms.
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