August 10, 2019
A story that had to be told. Fulfilling requests.
My life story is anything but your typical fare. To say I have seen some things I never anticipated would be a bit of an understatement. Growing up in Nebraska meant humble beginnings with humble projections into the future. I grew up wanting to be a scientist, fulfilled my college in the allotted four years and returned to my hometown to seek out a job as a lab tech for Nebraska Beef.
My first job was almost testing raw meat for salmonella. I remember the interview to this day. Walking through the office building, seeing the techs in their lab coats pouring agar into molds to test meat fibers later on. The smell was rank as the meat was fresh from the slaughterhouse. I was not jazzed at the prospect of this future career but the benefits were nice.
Cue the life change that was awaiting me weeks before I took the bait. I walked into my mother agent’s office with skepticism. I had an apartment picked out in downtown Omaha, a full-time career waiting for me and a long term and beautiful relationship I was set on pursuing until the end of time.
I left that office with a separate life spread before me.
Without spending too much time going through everything that followed, of which there was much (and which will probably end up in their own entries someday), this Tenth of August deserves a dedication post to one Parisian Friendsgiving that started with loaded macaroni and ended with Mick Jagger finding me a phone charger.
The scene begins on a night that brought together the American models of my Parisian agency. Around Thanksgiving time, we yearned for our own homage to the holiday and promised a feast. We delivered on that promise with an added caveat. Why not spend our evening in the company of one Rolling Stone?
I thought the idea ludicrous at the time. No way was Mick Jagger asking for our motley crew to roll through and spend an evening mingling. Alas, I would later be proven wrong. My friend swore that her proposal was legitimate and so off we went, piling into Ubers to ferry us over to Mick’s location.
We arrived and entered an immaculate apartment decorated with lavish furniture and giant Renaissance-era paintings hanging over an old fireplace. I remember thinking the decor was rather minimal but enjoyed the little touches. A garden sat just beyond a glass wall to our far side with a little fountain and chairs for more meditative moments.
The two men that ushered us in allowed us to roam a bit before introducing the man himself to us. There he sat, lager in hand, in a red velvet throne of a chair. He extended his arm briskly, grasping my hand and introducing himself simply as “Mick”. I returned the gesture before silently melting down at what just occurred.
From that moment on, my British friend and I exchanged glances of overwhelming excitement before playing it cool and swapping quips with the Rock God himself. We wandered the area, remarked on how traffic is shit in England (he agrees) and asked him about his own Thanksgiving. Turns out he had a nice dinner with his many family members over an internet connection.
Gotta love the 21st century.
Near the end of the night, my phone was nearing its death. I decided to take a most major chance and approached Sir Jagger with the intentions of asking a favor. He disappeared for a moment before reemerging with what I was looking for. He handed it to me casually and I took it, dumbstruck.
Mick Jagger, of the Rolling Stones, did me a favor. I die!
The night proceeded, we danced with him and a few other models who showed up. The gathering was an intimate one and I left feeling all sorts of strange.
I remember thinking to myself, how. How did this occur? Gotta stay grounded, though. Hence me writing this in the midst of teaching young children how to swim.
I think if Jagger knew, he’d be proud. I did make him laugh more than once.