I love David Sedaris. Let me rephrase that: I love David Sedaris’s writing (actually I think I would love the man, too. He’d be first on my list of “if you could invite any five people, dead or alive, for dinner, who would they be.” And Hugh, his boyfriend, would of course be invited too). Like millions of others, I am a die-hard fan. I see him read whenever he comes to Vancouver. I listen to his stories on “This American Life” and listen to interviews on NPR, WTF, Q on CBC, etc. And – of course – I read his books. I’m the proud owner of every Sedaris book ever written. I also buy copies for friends when they are ill or despondent. He is, in my opinion, one of the greatest writers of our time. He’s funny, observant, shockingly truthful and deliciously bitchy sometimes, but there is a depth to his work that is profound and moving. His art with a sentence is sheer genius – I can start out laughing and end up being gutted, all with one turn of phrase.
But even though I’ve seen him live a number of times, I’ve never had my books signed, because the line-ups afterward are so daunting.
So this is the set-up for the story that follows. A good friend of mine who’s in my book club went to Edinburgh this summer with her family. I loaned her my copy of “Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls.” A couple weeks later I see, on Facebook, a photo of said friend, with her son, standing behind David Sedaris at his signing table – he did three nights at the Fringe Festival – with my book in front of him! I was so excited – amazed that they had a photo taken because he doesn’t like having his picture taken, and that they got my book signed!!! I posted something along those lines – and my dear friend sent me a private message, full of remorse, that they had got my book signed – to her son. Now, I love this kid. So it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person (also a huge Sedaris fan). But yes, a part of me was crushed. I knew my friend would replace the book, but it would be unsigned.
Making a mountain out of a molehill, you say? Oh god, yes, definitely! Truthfully I’ve never been known for my mature response to many situations. I think that’s why I write YA fiction; a part of me was stunted at 13. I have, as my husband and son can attest, many reactions to things that much more closely resemble those of a teenaged girl than a grown woman. But Sedaris is to me what Justin Bieber is to millions of teenaged girls. I am somewhat obsessed and have a massive crush, although I would not carry a “Marry Me, David” sign to one of his readings.
A sidebar: I did meet David once, about 6 years ago. I was at a meeting at the CBC building in Vancouver. I knew he was in the building too, doing a radio interview. When I left my meeting I saw two CBC employees running down the hall. Now, it’s a big building, but my little brain said, “They are chasing Sedaris.” So I started running, too. And I was right: He was outside the building, getting into a cab, when they caught up to him. He chatted with them, and he could see me waiting behind them. He actually made eye contact and smiled, to acknowledge that he knew I was there. When it was my turn, I told him I was a huge fan, that I didn’t have his books with me but could he sign my notebook? He did, graciously. Then I said, “Thanks for all the laughter and the tears.”
I was so proud of myself as I walked away … then reality sunk in … and I realized I’d just said something so idiotic and soapy, I just deflated. But you know what? He never made me feel like an asshole. What a standup guy.
Cue today. My friend and her son stop by, just home from their trip. They regale me with their Sedaris stories. They were first in line to have the book signed, and David spoke to them for FIFTEEN MINUTES. He was particularly curious about her son, and directed many questions to him, like, “Why don’t you tuck in your shirt?” They talked about their rented Edinburgh apartments, and the slow washing machines. He was, they say, delightful and charming and interested. How does he do that, night after night?
Anyway – she’s holding a paperback version of the book I’d loaned her (I’d loaned her the hardcover). I take it, trying to be mature about the whole thing, and tell her son I’m so happy he got his book signed.
Then I open the cover.
It’s signed by David. It says, “To Susin: I’m so angry I missed you.”
My friend and her son went back the next night and begged to be let in just for the signing, so they could get another copy signed to me. David remembered them. I don’t know if they told him they suspected I was being immature, but I love that he wrote “angry.” Not “sorry I missed you,” but angry. Thank you to my friend and her son. Thank you David. My day = made.
Said friend was delighted to share passion for the funniest man alive with my dear friend and fellow bibliophile. I especially owed Susin big time as she was the first to recommend him to me years ago.
Ah, my friend “outed” herself! I didn’t know if I should name names. I’d forgotten I’d introduced you to his work! This story’s getting a lot of reaction in the Twitterverse as well, and everyone says the same thing: What a great friend!
Do you remember which book David recommended at the 2017 signing in indigo at Vancouver? I can’t remember and would really like to read. Thanks
Well you can see how often I check my blog … and unfortunately I didn’t see him this time, so I don’t know!