A few days ago I went to Fuddruckers for lunch. If you’ve been there you’ll know they make a mighty fine cheeseburger. The fries aren’t bad either, but I digress. Anyways, when I finished telling the cashier my order they asked for my name. I was feeling adventurous that day, so I told them I was none other than hockey superstar Pavol Demitra. “Ok, sir, we’ll call your name when your burger is ready.”
I sat down with eager anticipation for my pseudo name to be called. Wondered how many people in the crowded restaurant would look in my direction as I walked up to retrieve my burger and fries. Minutes seemed like hours until at last they called it. “Pavol Demitra your order is ready. Pavol your order is ready” over the speakers.
No one batted an eye. I walked up and grabbed my order, added some condiments to the burger and sat back down. Not one person in the entire establishment came over. Not one.
Granted, I probably look very little like the Slovakian winger, but there’s a little similarity. You’d think in a hockey-mad state such as this at least one person would’ve approached me, but no one did. I ate my burger in silence and walked out without being bothered. Maybe if I had said I was Blake Wheeler or even Dave Spehar; surely I would’ve been accosted then.