Here's a story I was just reminded of, I offer it up for a light Friday afternoon read.
About ten years ago we had some clients in from Texas. We like to take out-of-town clients to steakhouses (even though I'm vegetarian), but these folks were from Houston -so they know steak.
We figured we'd take them to Michael Jordan's Steakhouse in Grand Central Station for the atmosphere then hop over to the Oyster Bar (even though I don't drink alcohol).
We pass the bar on the way to our table and there's Slowhand sitting by himself with guitar in case beside him.
I point that out to the client (pretty much the most exciting thing for an out-of-towner is to see a "celebrity" -what great hosts we are!) and the guy becomes noticeably disturbed.
After a minute, he tells us he has to say something to Clapton. A few years earlier he lost a young daughter and that "Tears in Heaven" song helped him and his wife tremendously. He just needed to say something.
So the client kicks back a whiskey, screws up all his courage and starts to walk over.
He gets about 5 feet away and the guy at the bar says with a lilting English accent -"I'm not him. Just stop there."
The moral of this story is there's some guy with an accent that looks just like Clapton and walks around with a guitar case out there. So watch out. It may actually be god, explaining the confusion in the late 60s.
Next Time: How 6 guys tried to get money off me when their van "broke down" by claiming to be Spyro Gyra!