Waiter stories

Waiter stories from Hollywood

When I was a kid, I got

• “The Greatest American Hero” 

In the ’90′s I got

• David Caruso

On occasion, I’ve gotten

• Michael Rappaport,

and for a very short time period, I was often told I look like

• Ian Ziering.

Lately, I get no celeb comparisons.

If I could get away with pretending to be any of the aforementioned studs, I would milk that for all it’s worth.

To get away with pretending to be a celebrity isn’t so much how perfectly your looks match, but more about who you try to fool.

Only a gullible, self-involved, star-fucker would believe an imposter is legit for longer than a minute.

Dennis Rodman once mistook my friend Tim Noonan for Jonathan Silverman.

Jonathan Silverman

Timothy Noonan

Totally true story.  Apparently, Dennis Rodman was in the same bar as Tim one night.

When Rodman saw Tim, he hollered across the room, “Single Guy, right?”

“Yep.” Tim replied.

Rodman wanted to impress the other celebrity in the room, and Tim, under the guise of Silverman, had a night that would outmatch your wildest thoughts about what would go down if you were a celebrity partying with Dennis Rodman.

Tim is one of those ultra-slick cats who could do something like this without beating an eye. He’s a very skilled Las Vegas magician.

His father was a successful actor and comedian, Tommy Noonan.

Me, I’m not that slick, but I’m super-observant. One night, at the Planet Hollywood restaurant in Caesars Palace, I observed a dining room manager eye-balling me, and pacing frantically.

He was seriously clocking me. He looked like he wanted to give me bad news, but didn’t know how.
Finally, he disappears, and one minute later, our waiter comes to the table to “check on us,” but he’s got the same kind of scrutinizing look on his face as the manager.

Only towards me, not my wife. I check my fly, ask my wife if I got a huge pimple on my nose, or food in my teeth. All good.

Well, WTF? Why am I being studied like this? Do they think I stole something?

Then the manager reappeared.

Pacing.

Looking.

Abruptly, he stopped pacing and began walking towards the table.

His uneasiness was more obvious than a shark attack.

As he gets closer, the perma-grin tightens up, and he begins to extend his right hand towards me.

Oh, he wants to shake my hand.

Before I could even react, the manager quickly pivots, does a 180, puts his right hand on his head like he’s fixing his hair, and bolts out of sight.

Huh?

One minute later, the waiter arrives with two unneeded drink refills, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

I says to him, “Dude, what’s up with your manager?”

He replied, “Oh, he-he, uhh, he thought you were Ian Ziering.”

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