That time I had a chat with Michael Cera…

So this is how I remember it…but it was a few years ago so direct quotes aren’t direct quotes anymore, just paraphrases of the original converstaion:

One day, circa April 2011, I was working at a gallery opening in NYC.  I was head intern and went out for drinks with all the other interns afterwards. It doesn’t matter which bar we went to, only that I went out with a Canadian and perhaps two others, one of which was wearing a sweet bowler hat and told me he was afraid I would be a b*tch based on what I looked like (don’t let that smile fool you, I suffer from RBF or resting bitch face) he anyway confessed he was glad I wasn’t a b*tch and we all had a great time.


I took the one train home. Walking to the train was uneventful. It took a rather long time to get to the train because I was so far up the avenues I could almost see the water. (up? down? I was on 11th ave)

When I finally get underground at 34th street, I walk to my train and as it pulls up, who is leaning against the glass of the opposite door? Who is perfectly framed in front of me? Michael Cera.

So I think to myself and probably smirk to myself “Puh. That’s Michael Cera.”

When I sit down a seat apart from him, everyone is silent, whispering like the principal has ordered silence but we’re all in third grade and have to whisper to eachother.

The guy across from me is a meaty italian, dressed in slacks and shiny shoes and even he mouths to me “That’s Michael Cera.”

So I think to my self.  Self, this is it. You have to do something. I, having had a few beers, decide it’s a great idea to swing my head to face him and tell him he’s got great curly hair, and I would like a photo of said great curly hair.  Michael Cera, being a cheeky but cheery kid, smirks and patronizes me, giving me a photo of the back of his head. “Oh yeah, you like my hair? That’s very kind of you. Of course you can have a photo.  How’s this? Is this good?” He says.

I face palm and the italian guy laughs but give me a thumbs up. A for effort, right?

At 28th street a big woman stomps into the car, passes him, turns around more swiftly than I would have managed, and screams “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YO NAME IS, BUT YOU WAS IN SUPA-BAD.”

“Indeed, I was.” He smiles and takes a photo with her and turns back to me like he was egging me on. So I call him out on it.

“My friend, that was not cool. I tried to be all stealthy and not blow up your spot and all I got was a picture of the back of your head.” I smiled the whole time so I didn’t sound like the bitch BowlerHat thought I could have been.

“Well come over here!” That’s basically what he said. So he and his friend, sandwich me and distract me the whole time I’m trying to take a quick photo to not bother him further.

“Your arms are too short. Let me take the photo.” Michael Cera says. His friend throws his arms around me.

“Nah man, I got it. You’re terrible at this, that one looked silly.” I said when he showed me the photo.

“You’re right. It was awful. You try.” he hands my phone back and I am left with the photo above.

I don’t even remember what we talked about but basically I was captured (for a long while, at least ten minutes)after the photo was taken, by Michael Cera and his very nice and amusing friend for a few minutes on the 1 train going downtown.

Michael Cera is pretty damn cool.

The Italian man thinks I’m pretty cool, we silently fan girl about it after Michael Cera leaves the train.

Anyway this story ends with Michael Cera leaving somewhere before South Ferry and me texting my Canadian friend when I got above ground telling him “I JUST MET ANOTHER CANADIAN!”


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