So a bunch of days ago I was scheduled to drive up to Los Angeles for a couple of meetings. That morning, however, my wife was sick, so I needed to cancel. I fired off an e-mail to my first appointment, and the people were very understanding.
Then I wrote a quickie to the second guy, who was slated to meet me at a coffee shop at 4 that afternoon. This is what I sent, just after noon …
Now, I will admit (in hindsight) the note was quick and sans emotion. However, my wife was hacking up a lung, my plans were demolished, I had to schedule for my kids. Anyone with kids or a dog or infirmed parents or … a life to live knows these things happen, and on occasion you fire off the quick note saying, “Oy, sorry.”
This was the reply:
It got a bit nastier, then ended.
But the strangest part—like, the strangest, strangest, strangest part—is I still have no real idea who this guy in. This Steve told me, in earlier messages, that his neighbor had been Burt Reynolds, that he attending acting school with a childhood friend of Roger Clemens, that he likes golf (he belongs to RV—whatever that is), has a John Oates hookup and is married to J.J. Abrams’ writing partner.
Apparently, he also doesn’t take to being stood up too well.