A story in honor of the premiere of “Picard:”
Because I work in a field that is tangentially related to the comic arts, I qualify for a “professional” badge for San Diego Comic-Con. Ten years ago, when this story takes place, that meant I got to go for free AND that I got to bring a couple of friends (I’m not sure what it means these days because it’s costing me a ton to go this year). Up until that year, I had gone to Comic-Con by my lonesome.
Y’all, it’s WAY more fun with friends! This particular year I went with my friends Brad and Travis. We got a cheap hotel on the shuttle line and geeked out for four solid days. Having partners in crime meant I didn’t have to go to parties or dinners by myself. Which I just don’t even do. It also meant I got introduced to things I never knew about as my friends squealed when they saw a thing or person they loved.
Most meals at Comic-Con are eaten while standing in a line or wandering around the main hall, hunched over and protective like a squirrel because there is no room for your elbows to lift your sandwich to your mouth (and you aren’t supposed to have one in the first place). Occasionally, though, it’s nice to go out for a fancy meal. So we did. We went to Nobu.
Me, moments before “the incident.”
This was about the time San Diego Comic-Con was shifting from a nerd fest to a place where people try to “mingle” with stars and producers. RIP, but it’s still fun and there are plenty of other Cons that can serve your geeky needs. While there were plenty of people like us in our fandom t-shirts (mine was Slusho that year- see pic) or costumes, there were also people in fancy dresses and slicked-back hair, scoping the place out.
And then there was this one guy sitting next to me.
We had just finished our meal- miso cod, oh my god- and were trying to decide what to do for dessert. Brad asked the question:
“So do we want to grab something here or do we want to go back to Ghirardelli and get some oh my god Patrick Stewart just sat down next to you.”
Blink blink. “Huh?”
Travis was as confused as I was. “What? Where?”
Brad clarified. “Look at Courtney. Now look next to Courtney.”
I stole a quick glance. Nah. Couldn’t be him. How could PATRICK STEWART just walk through the doors of a busy restaurant at a pop culture convention and get all the way to the middle of the restaurant without being tackled by rabid fans? And how could he be sitting next to ME?
“That’s not him,” I whispered.
“YES IT IS!” They both shot back.
Then a server came over. “Can I get you something to drink?”
The responding voice was unmistakable: “I’ll have a vodka tonic.”
That. Was Patrick Stewart. It’s too bad this isn’t a video post because I actually do a spot-on impression of him ordering said drink…
Needless to say, we ordered ice cream. I mean, obviously I wanted to remain in his orbit as long as I could (also, fancy green tea ice cream), but I was genuinely curious what he was doing all by himself in this busy, trendy restaurant and kind of wanted to see how this would all play out. Our server put a “reserved” tent on our table and I was just about to ask Sir Patrick Stewart if he needed us to move when another server came to “collect” him.
“Your party is right this way.”
He got up quickly and I realized he was probably just as curious as I was about how he wasn’t being harassed to death and ready to get out of the crowd. Also probably anxious to get far away from the weird girl in the Slusho shirt and her friends who were very obviously tittering and staring at him and failing at pretending not to.
She led him to a room. I saw his face light up as he recognized the people within (which in my nerd mind was probably the rest of cast of TNG) and we hopped off to another impromptu party with a story to tell.
Years later, Brent Spiner would ask me for a Slusho and Marina Sirtis would inquire about my art, but those are stories for another post…