Sergio and I drove down here to San Diego yesterday in what I suspect will be the last decent daytime traffic on the 405 until the middle of September. The biggest impediment I encountered yesterday to me getting to where I wanted to go occurred at my hotel. I checked in, unpacked and took a walk to get some supplies. When I returned, men with that officious "Secret Service" look were mobllizing to get some Big Huge Important Celebrity into a suite on the same floor.
I never found out who it was. Look and see who the biggest star is who was there last night or this morning. It was probably that person. But all these serious men in serious suits were scurrying about, whispering into small walkie-talkies, concentrating on some voice in their earpieces and eyeing everyone around them as potential threats. The threats are not only to the biggie they were assigned to protect but also to their own careers as bodyguards.
I've seen this before. They're thinking that if someone — me, for instance — were to get close enough to the B.H.I.C. to say something like, "Hey, I've always enjoyed your work," the B.H.I.C. might instantly turn to his/her protectors and yell, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME FROM PEOPLE LIKE THIS!!!" and the bodyguard guys, having failed miserably in their assignment, would be expected to do the honorable thing and resign on the spot. If I were to go so far as to ask for an autograph, they'd wrestle me to the ground, taser me a few times and then quit in disgrace.
I recognize of course that B.H.I.C.s do sometimes face stalkers and other crazies and that they need protection. No question of that. I also recognize that a lot of this is just major league ass-kissing. The studio or someone sucks up to the star by putting on a big show of treating them like they're the most important person on the planet.
For obvious reasons, I will never be a B.H.I.C. If I were and I saw the fuss that was sometimes made on my behalf just to get me into a building, I think I'd be afraid people thought I was a large enough asshole to have demanded such treatment. I think I'd say, "Look, I'm not carrying the nuclear option codes here. You can probably get me into my hotel room with one smart assistant who knows the quickest way."
I'd definitely think that deploying a squadron of operatives in dark suits and sunglasses attracted way too much attention. Those advance men might as well have hauled out bullhorns and blared, "BIG STAR COMING IN! BIG STAR COMING IN!"
I'm reminded of a time I was in Las Vegas and a friend of mine and I were leaving an off-Strip restaurant that was known as a celebrity hangout. That's not why we went there, by the way. We went there because the food was good.
So we're standing there waiting for a cab and up come the men in dark suits, looking around every which way like they're expecting snipers. One of them commands us not to stand where we're standing. We have to stand fifty paces away — in a spot which is not where the cab we'd called would expect to find us.
My friend's name was Joelle and she asked the man, "Are you with the police?" He said no. She asked, "Do you work for the restaurant?" He said no. She asked what authority he had to order us to move. He said, as if this empowered him, "Private Security."
Just then, a gleaming black limo pulled up and the guy had to rush to attend to the man he was there to protect. It was Wayne Newton and he gave us a cheery wave and nod as he strolled past us into the restaurant. I turned to Joelle and said, "Wayne Newton was worried about being mobbed by fans?"
She said, "I've been working in this town for five years. He was probably worried that he wouldn't be."