Meeting the Boss

I have a favorite story for you. 

I was in my early twenties, selling concessions at Fenway. Foam fingers, baseball hats, mini bats, pennants, the whole nine. It was a fun job. I’ve always loved Fenway Park. It’s a place of magic. I heard many a beautiful rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner”, listened to some amazing concerts, the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, peanuts and sausages. It was a place of joy.

It was mid-game, and I was alone at my stand. A handsome guy stopped to buy a couple of things, pink mini bats, I think. He had a security guard with him, so I figured he must be famous, but I treated him like I treat everyone. He stopped by again on his way back to the suite. The second time he used the heaviest credit card that I’ve ever felt, and he told me I may want to hold onto his receipt. I thought to myself, “oh, this guy thinks he’s a big deal”, and I put the receipt into the drawer with all the others. His security guard hung back a bit and asked me, “do you know who that is?” “No.” I said. “Bruce Springsteen!” he tells me! “Oh, he IS a big deal!” I was so stunned, I couldn’t stop laughing. Pretty funny, I think he came back a second time, because he appreciated the anonymity. I love you, Bruce. I’ve always been a fan. I sing along. I just didn’t know what you looked like!