I’ve told you before but will remind you again: I’m a farm boy.
Shortly after our wedding, I surprised Cheryl with two tickets to the theater in Detroit, which was about an hour and a half from our home. The show I’d chosen was an obscure one called Les Miserables’, which I’ve since learned is French for “Joe will hate this.”
I don’t want to give away my age, but this was before the days of GPS. We took my motor-car with only a map. Back then these were printed on a thing called paper. You kids wouldn’t understand.
Because I’m a bear-of-little-brain, I missed my turn and soon found myself circling a neighborhood I’d describe as “less than optimal for people headed to the theater.”
I was horrified when I turned a corner and saw a woman walking alone in this neighborhood in a shiny formal red dress. She was over-the-top decked out with her outfit and poofy hair. For a second, I thought about asking her if she needed a ride, since it was clear that she must be walking to the theater. Maybe she could help with directions. For some reason…probably because I didn’t know the neighborhood, I decided to drive on.
…another ten minutes, and still no sign of our theater.
BUT, turning yet another corner, I spotted the same woman again. This time, she was standing on the curb, waiting for traffic to clear.
Here's the theater we were searching for. I know what you're thinking and agree. It totally blends in with the buildings around it.
Me: Let’s follow her. She knows where the theater is.
Cheryl: She knows where something is.
I slowed the car.
Cheryl: What are you doing?
Me: I told you already; I’m going to see what direction this woman goes.
Cheryl, confused: Why would we do that?
Me: Look at her. She’s got to be headed to the theater! I’m sick of driving in circles.
Cheryl: Are you kidding me?
Me: What?
Cheryl: Really? She’s a hooker!
My head nearly swivels off as I try to get a better look, like I’ve just discovered a baby Zebra in the corner of the pen at the zoo.
Me: Wow! Really? THAT’S a hooker?
Cheryl: Holy S%$!, Joe. Pull away, before she thinks we want a threesome.
I drive. We finally find the theater. I hate the show, except the one song where they’re all getting drunk. By intermission, I want to be drunk, too. We head for the concession area.
Cheryl: I can’t believe you didn’t know that was a hooker.
Me: It was a really nice dress.
Cheryl, putting her arm around me: I love that my man isn’t an expert on everything.
(Photo of Les Miserables – New York, Wikimedia Commons; Photo of Masonic Temple, Detroit by MikeRussell)
Okay, that’s my story. Now it’s your turn. Any “mistaken identity” stories to share?
hahaha that’s great, love it. you sure you didn’t know hehe
HA!
Great story!
I’m a little frightened to imagine what kind of hookers you’re used to seeing if you think that one looked like she was high society.
Lol, great story! Good thing your wife was there…would have been an interesting dinner conversation if she hadn’t been 🙂
Hilarious story! Really enjoy your story telling. Are you in enterainment? If not, you missed your calling!
I’m in the “oblivious-to-too-many-obvious-things”biz. Sounds like a lot of Hollywood types, so maybe i’d fit in.
Follow up: Later she was at the theater?
That’s the irony!
Nice story, Joe. It doesn’t need my embellishment!
THAT, my friend, would have proven my genius. However, I’m afraid that again, my spouse was correct-o-mundo.
Well, at least you got a funny story out of the evening at the theatre!
I can’t think of a mistaken identity story just now, but a loosely related concept for me was a time WAY back years ago, in high school, when I was driving and pulled up behind a car at a stoplight. Once the light turned green, the car in front didn’t move.
I waited patiently, then the light turned red again. My friends in the car were laughing at this point, and I didn’t get it. Then, the light turned green and the car in front still didn’t move. I started honking, which made my friends laugh even more.
Then I noticed…I previously mistakenly thought there was somebody in the car. There wasn’t. It was empty. It took a while to live that down.
So…that’s a case of mistaken identify in some way I suppose. We all have our more obtuse moments.
That’s awesome. Reminds me of the time my uncle once stopped at a blinking red light and sat there waiting for it to turn green (they never do). He was the designated driver for my dad and a few friends. They started accusing him of sipping a few when he was supposedly helping them get home safely.
That’s funny. Yes, there are definitely some things that I’m okay with not being an expert on.