A story about me and David Sedaris:

Years ago I went to see Davis Sedaris read his essays live (he was obviously amazing). At the time, I was about to embark on my own essay reading show. I waited in line for hours to get my copy of his book signed.

My manager, who was there too, repeatedly asked if I was going to tell him I was a comedian.


He asked if I would tell him about my show. I said I would rather die in a slow, painful, glue-related death. No one wants to be that guy. “You know I do a bit of writing myself-”
*shoots self in the eyeball*

As the time passed my manager became more and more persistent and ran to a local Internet cafe to print up my essays to bring back to me.

My time with Mr Sedaris finally came. I was nervous. I was sweating; on my lip and behind my knees. He was everything you’d want him to be; polite and charming and warm and genial. He signed my book and complimented me on my knitting needle broach. I felt like the swooning daughter of Virginian property owner, fanning myself at his words, “Oh Mr Seadaris…”

Burnt up by a sense of loyalty as I walked away from his desk I turned back and said, “I’m so sorry to do this but I’m about to do my own essay reading show and my manager is with me and he went to print these off at an Internet cafe so I think I have to give them to you. You don’t have to read them. You can put them in your hotel bin when you get back.” He gave me a look I couldn’t read like I’d tried to teach a cockatoo a new word. He then asked if I could put my address on the top. I told him my email address was already there. He corrected me, “No, your home address.” I didn’t understand at the time, but you just do what David Sedaris asks you.

I walked away feeling elated. But not quite as elated as when I got home two or three months later, having forgotten about that interaction, and had a hand written post card from him waiting for me in the mail.

It’s one of my most prized possessions.


PS I will post those essays here over the coming weeks.

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