At Least I Got A Signed Book

As someone who grew up in the South, I had never really become accustomed to having celebrity encounters (except for that one time I saw Forest Whitaker at the airport...in New Jersey and not the South). Because of this, when my family and I moved to New Jersey, I felt like I was living in a new world filled with excitement and opportunities. I had visited almost every summer before then to see family, but being able to actually stay there for an indefinite amount of time ignited a new kind of happiness within me.

Fast forward to winter break:

My family and I decided to go to New York City for the 78th time, you know, so the move could sink in and all. In all honesty, I don't even remember much of what we did on that trip, but I DO remember that we ate at Five Guys.

Because.

Well.

My grandma kind of literally walked into Shaquille O'Neal in the entrance. So that was going to be a little difficult to forget. . .

I'm not lying.

.

.

.

I'm not.

Anyway, that day, the east coast--specifically New York City--became even more like the Promised Land than I had imagined. The world had become my oyster.

I ate my fries in disbelief, thinking to myself: "If I can meet one celebrity...then I can meet them all!"

Behold! A new hobby was born.

Roughly a month or so later...

"The End of a New Hobby"

[That was a dumb rule anyway.]

I'm not sure exactly when this happened, but it was not too long after the Shaq encounter.

My mother had been happy to help me out with my new hobby (finding opportunities to meet celebrities in person) and announced to me one day that 50 Cent had scheduled a book signing at a Barnes & Noble nearby that was supposed to take place in a couple of days. We'd decided to head over.

The line was almost out the door when we had arrived. It took about 45 minutes for us to get close to the front, and that's when I heard the instructions for the meeting. See, my plan had just been to get a picture of 50 Cent and me shaking hands at the table. That way I'd have legitimate documentation of the event--

"No cameras. No photographs. No videos. Just one quick handshake, grab the signed book and keep the line moving."

Well.

That destroyed the entire purpose of the trip, to be honest. I wasn't actually interested in 50 Cent's dietary recipe book, so I tried to quickly come up with an alternative plan to keep that night from becoming a waste.

Meanwhile, being the schmoozer she was, my mom started talking to the security guard, attempting to sweet talk her way into being allowed one photo, but my turn was coming up very quickly, because people were actually following the directions and keeping the line moving (really, guys?) and, next thing I knew, it was my turn.

So at this point I had no choice but to trust that my photo would be taken one way or another and I headed up to the table with the book. Everything went well:

"Hey"

"How are you?"

"Nice to meet you?"

"Who am I making this out to?"

Etc.

He signed the book. Everything was swell. But my main concern ("main" as in 93 percent of my concern regarding the event, the other 7 percent having been to meet the man in the first place) had been the picture. And because of that, this last bit felt like it had happened in slow motion:

[50 Cent returns the book, extending his hand for the obligatory handshake.]

[I extend my hand as well, albeit much more slowly, trying to rack up as much time as possible because I could still hear my mother chiseling the guard.]

[As our hands join, I turn around to face my mom and I see...she is fully engrossed in a conversation with the security guard and laughing, phone pointed at the floor.]

Thanks, Mom.

My next move was kind of impulsive, but I had to get that picture.

"MOM!"

She jerked her head up to look at me and I wildly --but silently-- gestured to the rapper (because he definitely couldn't see that; it wasn't like he had eyes or anything), hand involuntarily tightening around his so he wouldn't be able to pull away.

[Congratulations, Taylor. You've officially become one of those fans... If "fan" is even the right term.]

All of the sudden, I felt his hand stiffen, so I turned to look at him again and saw this alarmed, irritated expression on his face before he snatched his hand away and basically dismissed me and moved on to the next person.

So I took the book and waited on the side, feeling only slightly like I'd been set on fire.

In the end, apparently my mom had tried to be sneaky and take a video instead...but the handshake was never caught on camera...and I had been blocking the view of 50 Cent entirely.

Good times.

To this day I cannot voluntarily listen to any song by 50 Cent, lest the war flashbacks return.