Even after I publicly claimed that “I was unable to say no to most pranks,” no one in NYC actually dared me to do anything. That’s bullshit.
So while I was at this big fancy party thrown by Schick, I came up with a hybrid prank that I was dying to do.
Pranking, you see, runs in my family. My older brother, Uncle Aunt Becky, is a Master Prankster (I know, some of you are shocked that I share my near-perfect genetics with someone else. Let me reassure you that the moment that I was born, my mother decided to get spayed. She knew she’d looked in the face of perfection and could do no better. Actually, she looked at me and said, “Now THAT is a face only a mother will love! “
Yeah, that’s why I’m like this).
He was the sort that had a propane tank and Bunsen burner in his high school locker to make coffee and was well known both by the STC PD and his dean for getting into mischief.
So when I realized that the place that this party was being thrown was in the same fancy complex as Masa, one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in the world, I decided that what I wanted more than anything was to enact my Master Prank. It’s a hybrid on the Ferris Bueller Prank, but, well, better.
Get a normal person to fake a celebrity to get a table in a fancy, exclusive restaurant on a busy night without a reservation.
The Celebrity: A woman, dressed as eccentrically as possible, possibly her hair wet and disheveled (on a dry day), large sunglasses covering her face and acting like a total weirdo. Occasionally wander around lobby eating flowers, talking to paintings, and screaming incoherently into off cell phone. Also has a weirdly familiar three word name.
Security: A dude. Not necessarily a LARGE man, but someone who can act formidable. Sunglasses with wire rims a must. Full black suit. Facial hair for anyone younger than 30.
This is Hockey Man Dad, who is Angie’s husband.
The Handler/Assistant: Smartly dressed woman in one of those weird women’s suits with the skirts. Coordinated gold jewelry a must. Sensible heels and a well executed up-do. Choices were:
Both were also candidates for Celebrity Role as well.
Extras: Stock lobby with people who “know” the celebrity who can ask for autographs and gasp and say, “OHMYGOD, IT’S BECKY SHERRICK HARKS.”
Show up to an exclusive restaurant without a reservation, “celebrity” acting like a total freak (which, in my case, isn’t hard to pull off) and demand a table. When the host/ess claims that there are no tables available, pull the “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?”
Clearly, they will not, because, well, the “celebrity” is a nobody.
Security will stand around, looking menacing while the Handler tries to convince the hostess that “Becky Sherrick Harks” really is not someone that this restaurant can afford the “bad publicity” to turn away. The three-name name is always a good one to pull out because it makes you sound like you are probably more important than you are.
Hope like hell no one has read your stupid blog or bothers to Google you to FIND your blog.
The “celebrity” should wander around the lobby acting like a total fool, eating the flowers, talking to inanimate objects and scaring the other patrons while security attempts to wrangle her.
Have lobby extras ask for autographs and pose for pictures with “celebrity” while handler talks with host/ess about getting the table. Have her go up management chain to secure table for “client.”
Make sure some of the extras gasp loudly and make a scene about “celebrity” and how awesome “celebrity” is.
Keep at the hostess for twenty or so minutes to see if you can actually manage a table out of them. If it does not work, leave in a threatening huff, promising that their restaurant will be on the next day’s paper. And on Twitter. Etc.
The Reason I Wasn’t Able To Pull It Off:
First, I was dressed normally that day, and was too tired to go back to the hotel to put on something zany and weird. Had I had even an ounce more energy, I would have gone back and found myself half of a fat suit to wear or something. And then gotten drenched. Getting wet is always a good cover.
Then, there was this, my security detail (who ALSO wasn’t dressed properly):
That’s me, attempting to look like I’m taking a picture with some REAL celebrity that was at the party I was attending. I’m from Chicago, and people from Chicago aren’t overly impressed by celebrity, unless it’s Britney Spears and OMFG, I LOVE BRITNEY SPEARS.
But, my SECURITY detail, he was all FanBoy on the dude. So, I wasn’t able to wrangle him away.
We were down two essential players.
Plus, Heather was throwing the party and Angie was as tired as I was, so it just seemed like our hearts weren’t going to be into pranking.
Next year, though, I’m going to do something with THIS:
P.S. Are you impressed by celebrity? What celebrities have you met? Will you do this prank with me?