Originally posted: June 21, 2005
So I pulled into the Wendy’s Drive Thru last Thursday for a quick shitty meal and a case of the runs before a concert. I placed my order and drove up to window to see the female Wendy’s employee giggling over in the direction of her coworkers.
She looked down at me, smiled, and said, “I’m sorry. I was just talking about you.”
So, the Wendy’s girl was talking about me to her friends. Interesting. With my typical modesty, I thought to myself:
That’s right, baby. Talking about me, weren’t ya? Yeah you were. Just a couple giggly comments to the girls in the back about old Bones. Yeah, that’s right, Dr. Homestyle Chicken Salad pulling up to the window to make your night. You and all the girls back there, right?
“You know who you look like?” she asked.
Oh I know, baby. Maybe a little Brad Pitt going on down here in the Honda Civic? Or someone a little more mysterious, maybe? Yeah? Maybe you’re thinking Mickey Rourke from Nine 1/2 Weeks? Ohhh, aren’t you the wild one? Yeah, you like what you see, don’t ya? Who is it, sweetheart? So tell me, who’s ole’ Bones lookin’ like to ya?”
“You look like that guy from Quantam Leap!”
That’s right, doll. I look like the… Wait. What? Scott Bakula? Aaahhh fuck….”
“Yeah, the guy from Quantam Leap! Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Uh, well, uh,” I replied. “No, uh don’t think so…”
I turned my gaze away from the employee, grabbed my food, and drove off in shame. Scott Bakula? Fucking A. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s a handsome fellow. And we all know he can time-travel like a son of a bitch. But, when strangers tell you that you look like someone from TV or the movies, what they really mean is that you look like an uglier version of someone from TV or the movies. So I guess I’m an uglier Scott Bakula. And is it really necessary to remind me about the size of my honker? Man. At least when I had long hair and a beard, people said I looked like Jesus. Now it’s Bakula. From The King of Kings to the supporting cast of The Color of Night.
I drove towards my house, defeated, eating my fries. And fortunately I was able to stuff them into my mouth without getting them caught in my huge fucking nose.
Sigh.
But then again, all was not completely lost that night. The Quantam Leap reference did remind me about a hell of a party my pals and I threw a year or two after college – The Scott Bakula Appreciation Party.
An original idea from my pal Leo which I promptly stole, The Scott Bakula Appreciation Party consisted of a night of different parties, one after the other, each decorated to represent a different time period. And party-goers would “Quantam Leap” from one era to the next. Yeah yeah, I know, the idea of having your friends wander from one themed-party to the next is not the most original idea in the world, but multiple parties based around a common admiration for Scott Bakula? Now that’s good stuff.
My pals and I all lived in the same complex for a couple years after college, spread out among 4 different apartments. It was the perfect environment for a traveling party. The first stop was at me and my pal hJon’s apartment, and the time period was The Ice Age. Being lazy and cheap, we really didn’t have much to offer. We just drew some prehistoric hieroglyphics on big pieces of brown paper and hung them on the walls. We dressed in shitty fake leopard skins and served beer and lousy punch. A rather unremarkable first stop, to be honest, but well, it had booze.
After an hour or so of caveman drinks, and probably an occasional Homo Erectus joke, it was time to Quantam Leap to the next time period. We all trekked over to our pal Doo Doo’s apartment that was decorated to look like a 20s Speak Easy. Now, this was a well-done time period. The roommates were all dressed in collared shirts and ties and were serving drinks from behind the bar. Good drinks, too. Like brand name whiskey and shit. Recently out of college, I still had not yet evolved out of my Canadian Mist phase, and actually drinking a Jack Daniels was a nice treat. At this point, the party had gotten pretty big, and the apartment was packed.
We all quantam leaped from the 20s Speakeasy across the complex to a 70s Jimmy Buffet Beach Party at our pal Inferno’s place. The apartment was decked out just like you’d expect a 70s Jimmy Buffet Beach Party would be. Parrots and limbo sticks and shit. Inferno was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a grass skirt. Good times. Until the cops showed up and told us to knock it off. If I recall (which I don’t very well), there was no “turn the music down” or “get everyone inside.” No, they wanted the thing over. So we all filed out of the place with the full intention of quantam leaping to Time Period number 4. Sorry, but when it comes to choosing between The Law and The Law of Quantam Physics, I’ll choose the latter. On the way out, an angry Inferno gave the middle finger to one of the cops. And Inferno ended his night wearing a grass skirt in a holding cell.
The cops had scared away the majority of the party, and it was a pretty small group of us who made it to the last time-period at Freaky’s place – The Future. Freaky had covered his walls in tin foil and the apartment was illuminated by a single, rocket-shaped black light in the corner. We hung around there for as long as we could, desperatley trying to keep a party going where the nervous patrons could only communicate in hushed whispers. The cops were still out on the prowl in the complex, and it made for a pretty big buzz-kill. Finally everyone just gave up and headed to their respective homes.
Man, it sure seemed like the cops were being especially harsh to a bunch of innocent drinking-age people just trying to celebrate the greatness of Scott Bakula. It almost felt like there was something bigger going on. A plot to stop the leaping…
I felt like I could finally relate to Dr. Samuel Beckett.
I could understand how he must have felt. For, like him, I was just another reluctant, misunderstood, time-traveling outlaw.
And now that I think about it, maybe it wasn’t my nose the girl at Wendy’s was looking at. Maybe it was my eyes. Maybe she could see a little something in them that other people can’t – the look of understanding. An understanding that can only be achieved by a man who’s experienced the ages. A man who’s leapt through the ages. Maybe she saw that. And maybe she’s seen it before in me. Maybe she’s a traveler too. And maybe we’ll meet again in another time. At another Wendy’s. A Wendy’s of the past. Or the future.
And maybe, just maybe, when I see her next time, maybe I’ll see Scott Bakula in her eyes.
My eyes.
His eyes.
Godspeed, Scott.
