Along with 47 people named Alex at my job, there are also 15,000 men named Michael in my department. As a result, we call them all by their last names, and then anytime someone says, "Mike," I'm all, "Who?"
One of these souls is Fewks, whose last name is not spelled "Fewks," but it's close enough, and every day I try to pronounce his name in a different way. "Hello, Flucks," I'll say. "Hey, Fooux." "How was your weekend, Frooks?"
No one at work likes me.
So, poor Fewks was getting his hair cut yesterday, and somehow he and the hairdresser got on the topic of the lesbian taco place that I've told you about before. The whole town is abuzz about that place, and that owner is, like, lesbian about town. I see her out, and people flock to her, man. Her and her taco.
"Oh, that place is great," said Fewks to his hairdresser. "I mean, that's where Paul McCartney ate," he noted. It's true. A few months ago, Paul McCartney performed here, and the day he was here, my friend Kit saw him walk downtown RIGHT PAST her store, just his wife and him–is that his wife? Did he get married again after that Heather mistake? I think so.
Back when Paul McCartney was married to Heather, there was some Paul McCartney special on, and they said, "When we return, Paul sings a special song to Heather." Marvin sang, to the tune of My Love Does it Good, "My leg's made of wood."
And that's why Marvin is in hell as we speak.
Anyway, it is a well-known fact that Paul McCartney marched right over to lesbian taco and ate there, and if I were lesbian taco woman, I'd be wearing my Hey, Ladies, Ask Me About When Paul Fucking McCartney Ate At My Restaurant t-shirt.
After Fewks announced this tidbit to his hairdresser, she was unresponsive. I don't mean she was dead, which would be unfortunate because who'd finish his hair, I just mean she didn't pick up on his story.
"I mean, he's a vegetarian, but he was even able to find something good that's vegetarian there," continued Fewks, hoping to garner a response from his audience.
Still crickets. This is when he pulled out the big guns and did his Paul McCartney impression. "Oy, I'm Sir Paul. Blimey, what a delicious taco."
I mean, I heard the impression upon the retelling of this incident. I can assure you I'd have been Easter Island as well, hearing that thing.
It was sometime after the Liverpool accent did not go down that it hit Fewks like a jet, JET, oooOOoooo, that his hairdresser?
Did not know who the fuck Paul McCartney was. It'd be like trying to tell me a cute story about a sports figure or a world leader. Hey, did you hear about when Mikhail Gorbachev went to lesbian taco? "WHO? Wait, is he one of the Mikes at work?"
The point of my story is this. That's appalling. The part where someone doesn't know who Paul McCartney is. And the part where I had to look up how to spell "Mikhail."
Who, in your opinion, as opposed to you leaving a comment with somebody else's opinion, is someone everyone should know, no matter their age? Is it okay to not know who Uma Thurman is? What about Isadora Duncan?
Who in the present should we, as old people, know about that we may not? Like, are you aware of some musician or influencer that as old folk may be passing our generation by? Are we the grandpas sitting in the back of the room saying, "Who are those long-haired hippies on the Ed Sullivan?"
Is it annoying that I just said "influencer"? Let me know all this and more.