The year was 2019.
To put the time into context, quarantine was a social construct that existed only in Will Smith’s film “I am Legend”. Face masks referred to soaked sheets one would put over their face to moisturize their pores. Our biggest fears were of VSCO girls and Felicity Huffman. On this brisk summer day, my family and I journeyed to the Whole Foods on Foothill, a rare occasion as we usually patronize an H-Mart or a Marukai. #AsianPride
Meek 13-year-old me went straight for Whole Foods’s eclectic array of cheese samples and shoved brie and gouda into my unhinged jaw. As I was gorging curdled dairy, my father bolts in my direction and frantically whispers “Guess who’s here?”
I immediately considered all the people I did not want to see. Lori Loughlin? My emotionally abusive piano teacher? Tim Cook?
Far too tortured by the possibility of seeing any of those above, I interrupted my train of thought and asked “who?”
He goes, “Do you know Terry Crews?”
Do I know Terry Crews. What a stupid question. Do I know Terry Crews.
Immediately, I break out into a cold sweat. I race to where my father indicated he saw the legendary linebacker, and I see none other than Terry Alan Crews.
Fangirling, I take refuge in the ice cream aisle, attempting to pull myself together. My lungs felt constrained. I couldn’t breathe properly. My Apple Watch indicated that I flatlined and informed Apple to hire me for a commercial in which I cry about how my Apple Watch saved my life but I am only crying because Tim Cook is pointing a gun to my head behind the camera. #capitalism
My parents join me in the ice cream aisle where they harangue me to ask Mr. Crews for a photograph. I refuse, telling them that I value my dignity too much for Terry Jeffords from Brooklyn 99 to reject my request.
As we were discussing military strategies on how to propose a selfie with Terry Crews, guess who rolls into our asylum?
Terry Alan Crews.
American actor, television host, and former American footballer Terry Alan Crews.
I take flight once again, running as far away from the ice cream aisle as possible. I camped out near a wall of organic dog food until I was sure Mr. Crews had left the premises and my parents couldn’t bully me into asking to take a picture with him.
Flash forward to the present, in 2022, when my biggest fear is of opening the Word document containing Dr. Skophammer’s violent mutilation of my lab report. Whenever someone asks me what my biggest regret is, I respond with not shaking Mr. Crews’s hand and thanking him for the positive social and political implications he has left on the world. I wish I had mustered the courage to speak to him instead of dodging him like how Lori Loughlin tried to dodge the consequences of paying half a million dollars for her daughters to go to a subpar South Californian private university*.
*USC is a wonderful institution. My father is a Bruin, so I am inclined to slander the University of Southern California with every chance I get. I apologize to anyone I may have offended.
To put the time into context, quarantine was a social construct that existed only in Will Smith’s film “I am Legend”. Face masks referred to soaked sheets one would put over their face to moisturize their pores. Our biggest fears were of VSCO girls and Felicity Huffman. On this brisk summer day, my family and I journeyed to the Whole Foods on Foothill, a rare occasion as we usually patronize an H-Mart or a Marukai. #AsianPride
Meek 13-year-old me went straight for Whole Foods’s eclectic array of cheese samples and shoved brie and gouda into my unhinged jaw. As I was gorging curdled dairy, my father bolts in my direction and frantically whispers “Guess who’s here?”
I immediately considered all the people I did not want to see. Lori Loughlin? My emotionally abusive piano teacher? Tim Cook?
Far too tortured by the possibility of seeing any of those above, I interrupted my train of thought and asked “who?”
He goes, “Do you know Terry Crews?”
Do I know Terry Crews. What a stupid question. Do I know Terry Crews.
Immediately, I break out into a cold sweat. I race to where my father indicated he saw the legendary linebacker, and I see none other than Terry Alan Crews.
Fangirling, I take refuge in the ice cream aisle, attempting to pull myself together. My lungs felt constrained. I couldn’t breathe properly. My Apple Watch indicated that I flatlined and informed Apple to hire me for a commercial in which I cry about how my Apple Watch saved my life but I am only crying because Tim Cook is pointing a gun to my head behind the camera. #capitalism
My parents join me in the ice cream aisle where they harangue me to ask Mr. Crews for a photograph. I refuse, telling them that I value my dignity too much for Terry Jeffords from Brooklyn 99 to reject my request.
As we were discussing military strategies on how to propose a selfie with Terry Crews, guess who rolls into our asylum?
Terry Alan Crews.
American actor, television host, and former American footballer Terry Alan Crews.
I take flight once again, running as far away from the ice cream aisle as possible. I camped out near a wall of organic dog food until I was sure Mr. Crews had left the premises and my parents couldn’t bully me into asking to take a picture with him.
Flash forward to the present, in 2022, when my biggest fear is of opening the Word document containing Dr. Skophammer’s violent mutilation of my lab report. Whenever someone asks me what my biggest regret is, I respond with not shaking Mr. Crews’s hand and thanking him for the positive social and political implications he has left on the world. I wish I had mustered the courage to speak to him instead of dodging him like how Lori Loughlin tried to dodge the consequences of paying half a million dollars for her daughters to go to a subpar South Californian private university*.
*USC is a wonderful institution. My father is a Bruin, so I am inclined to slander the University of Southern California with every chance I get. I apologize to anyone I may have offended.
