(no subject)
I went to "meet" Bret Hart today at his book signing. It should have been an awesomely exciting day. Unfortunately, it wasn't.
We got there about an hour before the signing started--any pro "stalker" will tell you that this is a good time to get there. Well, today--unfortunately--it wasn't. Apparently, the people that were running the signing had some sort of online registration thing. I had no idea about this, seeing as how Bret's homepage, where I got the news that there was even going to BE a signing, said nothing about it. So, even though I got there an hour before the signing, I wound up in the "unregistered," or "wait list" line. This meant that the 275 registered people could show up whenever the fuck they wanted and get to meet Bret ahead of me. This also means that, until about half an hour after the signing officially started, I didn't even know for sure if I'd even GET to get my book signed at all. Lovely.
The asshole that had separated the lines repeatedly came around and said asshole things, while parading himself around as if HE were actually important enough for everyone to be there to meet HIM instead of Bret. He seriously kept thinking he was funny or cool or something. At one point, he actually said, "Bret said he's not signing anything unless you pay me 50 bucks." There was also some lady with a mullet that kept pacing back and forth, saying that people weren't going to get to go in. She wasn't even someone working for the event, like Asshole Guy was. Oh no, Mullet Lady was just some sort of creepy inbred that somehow must have followed me up here from North Carolina. Maybe she crawled into my suitcase or something. Scary.
Asshole Guy also handed out a list of rules that were supposedly handed down by Bret. My ass. They said things like Bret wouldn't sign replica belts (might I add those things are annoying and fucking retarded??? Oh, and uh, he definitely signed some anyway), Bret would sign as many books as you wanted but no action figures or dvds (um he signed plenty of them), and so forth and so on. How in the hell do you try to play like these are the celebrity's rules, especially when said celebrity is so well-known for being a really nice guy that genuinely cares about his supporters??? LAME.
Then, the icing on the cake came. See, they were making us have the book turned to the title page ONLY, with our post-it notes (Asshole Guy called them "stickies") with our names on them in there. The thing is, the people kept asking us to have the page saved with our book jackets (or what the fuck ever you call them), even when there was still an hour to go before we got the beginning of the line. Uh, guys, I think I can read well enough in order to find the TITLE PAGE before I get to Bret...Anyway, I kept politely (although less so with each request) refusing to do so and saying I'd hold the page with my finger. That remained fine until I got to the last obstacle--the fucking rent-a-cop.
Oh yes, Rent-A-Cop Man, in his cheap designer rip-off suit. How, I hate him. He effectively ruined the signing for me. I could have let everything else slide, but he really fucking ruined it! When I got to him, he asked me to show him my book--I did--and then he just took it from me and started jamming the pages into the book jacket. I asked him not to ruin my book and he started screaming at me. "Excuse me? Excuse me? WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" I repeated that I did not want my book ruined. "EXCUSE ME?! Well, this is the way we're doing it, and if you don't like the program you can just leave!" Seriously, the program? I can just leave? Really? Yes, I waited for nearly 3 hours to just leave, when there are only 3 people in front of me in line until I get to Bret. Yeah, ok. DICKFACE. So, I asked him who was going to replace my book now that he had ruined it. (Ok, at this point I was probably being a little bitch. I think after 3 hours of bullshit, it was pretty much a given that this would happen.) And so, Rent-A-Cop started bitching at me about leaving again. Then, he demands to know whether I was going to have my picture taken. I'm like, duh, you idiot. So, I say "yeah." He then proceeds to start trying to rip my camera off of my fucking wrist. Um, respect for others' belongings, anyone? ANY DAMNED ONE???? He's all DEMANDING that I give him my camera and yanking at the damned thing, while I'm trying to disentangle it from the scrunchie that I have on my wrist. I'm like, dude, seriously. Give it a fucking rest. So, I asked him to hang on while I got it off of my wrist and turned the power on, and he's all "EXCUSE ME? EXCUSE ME?!" and shit again. Fucking ASSHOLE.
And then Bret turned around...and Rent-A-Cop did a total 180. He started smiling and courteously told me that it was my turn next.
The icing on the cake is that I'm pretty sure I blew Bret off and was a bitch to him.
That's right. I think I was a bitch to Bret Hart. Please let me go kill myself now.
See, he saw that my book was one of the Canadian editions (thanks again, Astrid!) and said, "wow, you must really be a big fan if you couldn't wait and had to get the book from Canada." At this point, I'm like, ok Shana try to fucking smile this is Bret fucking Hart here....and so, of course, I smiled (it was sort of more like a grimace) and said, "oh yeah, HUGE." So, then he asked me how I liked it. Now, on any day, Bret Hart asking me how I liked his book would have sparked me flipping through it and finding my favorite passages to discuss. Not today. I was just like, "oh man, I loved it. Thanks." Smile. Shake hand. Dad and Asshole Guy take my picture. I walk away. Dad shows me my picture all smiley like. I tell him we need to get the fuck out of there. "What? What's wrong?" I told him again that we needed to go. "Do you need to use the bathroom or something?" "No." And then I told him all about Rent-A-Cop.
Yeah, thanks for ruining my fucking last day at home, as well as my chance to have a book discussion with Bret Hart. Fucking Ocean County Library and "Bookends" can KISS MY ASS.
:(
We got there about an hour before the signing started--any pro "stalker" will tell you that this is a good time to get there. Well, today--unfortunately--it wasn't. Apparently, the people that were running the signing had some sort of online registration thing. I had no idea about this, seeing as how Bret's homepage, where I got the news that there was even going to BE a signing, said nothing about it. So, even though I got there an hour before the signing, I wound up in the "unregistered," or "wait list" line. This meant that the 275 registered people could show up whenever the fuck they wanted and get to meet Bret ahead of me. This also means that, until about half an hour after the signing officially started, I didn't even know for sure if I'd even GET to get my book signed at all. Lovely.
The asshole that had separated the lines repeatedly came around and said asshole things, while parading himself around as if HE were actually important enough for everyone to be there to meet HIM instead of Bret. He seriously kept thinking he was funny or cool or something. At one point, he actually said, "Bret said he's not signing anything unless you pay me 50 bucks." There was also some lady with a mullet that kept pacing back and forth, saying that people weren't going to get to go in. She wasn't even someone working for the event, like Asshole Guy was. Oh no, Mullet Lady was just some sort of creepy inbred that somehow must have followed me up here from North Carolina. Maybe she crawled into my suitcase or something. Scary.
Asshole Guy also handed out a list of rules that were supposedly handed down by Bret. My ass. They said things like Bret wouldn't sign replica belts (might I add those things are annoying and fucking retarded??? Oh, and uh, he definitely signed some anyway), Bret would sign as many books as you wanted but no action figures or dvds (um he signed plenty of them), and so forth and so on. How in the hell do you try to play like these are the celebrity's rules, especially when said celebrity is so well-known for being a really nice guy that genuinely cares about his supporters??? LAME.
Then, the icing on the cake came. See, they were making us have the book turned to the title page ONLY, with our post-it notes (Asshole Guy called them "stickies") with our names on them in there. The thing is, the people kept asking us to have the page saved with our book jackets (or what the fuck ever you call them), even when there was still an hour to go before we got the beginning of the line. Uh, guys, I think I can read well enough in order to find the TITLE PAGE before I get to Bret...Anyway, I kept politely (although less so with each request) refusing to do so and saying I'd hold the page with my finger. That remained fine until I got to the last obstacle--the fucking rent-a-cop.
Oh yes, Rent-A-Cop Man, in his cheap designer rip-off suit. How, I hate him. He effectively ruined the signing for me. I could have let everything else slide, but he really fucking ruined it! When I got to him, he asked me to show him my book--I did--and then he just took it from me and started jamming the pages into the book jacket. I asked him not to ruin my book and he started screaming at me. "Excuse me? Excuse me? WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" I repeated that I did not want my book ruined. "EXCUSE ME?! Well, this is the way we're doing it, and if you don't like the program you can just leave!" Seriously, the program? I can just leave? Really? Yes, I waited for nearly 3 hours to just leave, when there are only 3 people in front of me in line until I get to Bret. Yeah, ok. DICKFACE. So, I asked him who was going to replace my book now that he had ruined it. (Ok, at this point I was probably being a little bitch. I think after 3 hours of bullshit, it was pretty much a given that this would happen.) And so, Rent-A-Cop started bitching at me about leaving again. Then, he demands to know whether I was going to have my picture taken. I'm like, duh, you idiot. So, I say "yeah." He then proceeds to start trying to rip my camera off of my fucking wrist. Um, respect for others' belongings, anyone? ANY DAMNED ONE???? He's all DEMANDING that I give him my camera and yanking at the damned thing, while I'm trying to disentangle it from the scrunchie that I have on my wrist. I'm like, dude, seriously. Give it a fucking rest. So, I asked him to hang on while I got it off of my wrist and turned the power on, and he's all "EXCUSE ME? EXCUSE ME?!" and shit again. Fucking ASSHOLE.
And then Bret turned around...and Rent-A-Cop did a total 180. He started smiling and courteously told me that it was my turn next.
The icing on the cake is that I'm pretty sure I blew Bret off and was a bitch to him.
That's right. I think I was a bitch to Bret Hart. Please let me go kill myself now.
See, he saw that my book was one of the Canadian editions (thanks again, Astrid!) and said, "wow, you must really be a big fan if you couldn't wait and had to get the book from Canada." At this point, I'm like, ok Shana try to fucking smile this is Bret fucking Hart here....and so, of course, I smiled (it was sort of more like a grimace) and said, "oh yeah, HUGE." So, then he asked me how I liked it. Now, on any day, Bret Hart asking me how I liked his book would have sparked me flipping through it and finding my favorite passages to discuss. Not today. I was just like, "oh man, I loved it. Thanks." Smile. Shake hand. Dad and Asshole Guy take my picture. I walk away. Dad shows me my picture all smiley like. I tell him we need to get the fuck out of there. "What? What's wrong?" I told him again that we needed to go. "Do you need to use the bathroom or something?" "No." And then I told him all about Rent-A-Cop.
Yeah, thanks for ruining my fucking last day at home, as well as my chance to have a book discussion with Bret Hart. Fucking Ocean County Library and "Bookends" can KISS MY ASS.
:(