The fridge between us

Dylan Moran came into the restaurant this evening after his last show in Sydney [at least I think it was, let's just say it was]. This is what he ordered. In terms of what's on offer, he wasn't particularly adventurous [though he was with friends, so I guess one must cater to as many tastes as possible], though truth be told we forced him into a quick decision as the kitchen had already closed by this point. The whole situation was fairly amusing. He had come in a few hours earlier and asked a member of the bar staff if he could come in and order 9 pizzas five minutes before we closed. Assumedly star struck by the whole thing, said bartender said yes without asking us mere peasants; some of us were less than impressed. Being the only person in the kitchen who actually knew who he was I didn't mind too much, knowing the opportunity to make a long-winded story about how I'd made a pizza for the man who played Bernard Black was far too tantalising to pass up.

In the end, the whole thing was rather painless. He was actually quite pleasant to deal with, and extremely apologetic about the whole thing. I thought of trying to ask him to pose for a photograph with me, or at least sign something [purely for the purposes of evidence], but I figured that no one really wants to be bothered when they've just finished working... they just want to be a human for a while. The irony of the situation quickly dawned on me that by obliging his [and his fan behind the bar's] request, I was prolonging my own downtime. This feeling was reaffirmed as I glanced in his direction after finishing my shift; his eyes meeting mine in a completely disaffected stare, before averting his gaze and replying to a companion's comment with a two word sentence that caused much raucous laughter.

At that point he blended into the rest of the bar's clientele, and I went home safe in the knowledge that not only is Dylan Moran human after all, but he's a customer too.

Happens to the best of us I guess.