Wild-looking guy comes into the office (we're in a storefront, so all manner of strange folk just walk in), asks for DeNiro
, then for Drew. I tell him neither is available. Guy sits down, tells me he just recovered from open-heart surgery, needs to catch his breath. I run next door to get him some water.
Once he recovers, he asks if he can leave something for Drew. Sure, I say. The guy pulls out a sheaf of grubby paper, asks for a staple remover, then asks me to copy about 50 pages. I request a summary instead. He launches into a long rambling story, "to give me the context," the upshot of which is he's trying to start some kind of limo company and has endorsements from (get this) Colin Powell and Condi Rice. Boy, did he wander into the wrong place. I keep interrupting, politely OC OC, to ask what the fuck he wants from us, knowing full well he wants money. Did I mention that I'm all alone with this nut case?
Finally, he winds up by saying all he needs is a few million bucks to get going until a) Bush is elected, and good ol' Condi will send him a big fat check or b) Bush loses, in which case he'll get a big fat grant.
I manage to get rid of him once he realizes that I don't work for DeNiro.