Don't I Know You From Somewhere?

At the Jamboree Music Festival:

Traci and I were sitting on our blanket watching the boringness when a middle-aged lesbian sitting behind us as gets my attention:

MAL: You look really familiar. Are you on the news?

Me: Um, no. Not that I know of. (I decided not to recount the one time I hung out with Shelly Osterloh. Here and here.)

MAL: Oh, well, where are you from?

Me: [Skipping through all of the 'where could I know you from's] Where do you do your banking?

MAL: Uh, America First.

Me: I worked at Cyprus Credit Union for five years and usually that's where people know me from.

MAL: Oh, I have an account there. That must be it.

Me: Yep, that must be it.

I wonder how often news anchors are approached and asked if they are bank tellers.

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The day after I got home from my mission I was I was meeting some friends at Temple Square. (Talk about nerdy and predictable for a returned missionary.) I could see two girls looking at each other and giggling.

Were they checking me out? Doubtful, I thought. As if on a bet, one of them approached me.

"Uh, hi, are you, uh, Lance Bass?"

"Sorry to disappoint you ladies, but you've got the wrong guy."

I wonder if people ever ask Lance Bass if he is the purveyor of the Sutherland Manifesto.