A few months ago, my friend and I were in Ireland complaining about how no one in Los Angeles even comes close to displaying the same amount of friendliness for which the Irish are so famous. We were determined to instill some Irish love into our bereft population upon our return because, before that point, neither of us had experienced any sort of random act of friendliness on Los Angeles soil.But recently, I had an experience which made me change my outlook on our west coast population. I have just relocated from Santa Monica to Studio City and last night, when I finally stopped whining about not living next to the ocean any longer, I decided to mingle with the local community. And apparently, if you live in Studio City, the local community is located at Aroma Cafe on Tujunga. So off I went, intent on planting myself in the library and working on my screenplay like any good actor/writer/entertainment industry member living in Studio City is supposed to do.
Much to my surprise when, as I was looking for the elusive parking spot on Tujunga, I almost ran over a man wearing a yellow reflector jacket and carrying a bouquet of orange flags marching across the street in front of me. Oh great, I said to myself. He's a retired actor who's lonely and looking to make friends by escorting them through traffic. I made a mental note to steer clear. But, of course, after snagging that elusive parking spot, I found myself on the corner of Tujunga, attempting to dart into oncoming traffic without being pegged by the speeding cars. Reflector Man was sitting in a chair a few feet away, organizing his orange flags, when he looked up, saw me and promptly jumped off of his chair. "Would you like an escort across the street?" he asked, as a convertible Beemer whizzed past us at 50 mph. "Uh, sure," I said to him and followed him as he waved his orange flags at the oncoming cars. We had made it safely across when someone from the nearby cafe called out, "Oh, look! It's Dave, the Mayor of Studio City!" I turned to him, unable to contain my surprise. "You ARE?" I exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. We shook hands and he made his way back across the street to his folding chair, waving his flags all the way. As I watched his yellow reflector jacket go, I thought, well, maybe Ireland doesn't have anything on us after all.
Maybe he's up for re-election. I don't know. Honestly, my brain is too full of national politics to pay attention to any local ones. (I must admit, if Jon Stewart hosted Dave, the Mayor of Studio City, on The Daily Show, it would be a different story, of course.) But, somehow, it doesn't matter. All I know is I feel a little better about not living next to the beach any longer.
