Tell Us About Your Craziest Celebrity Encounters

Welcome to Pissing Contest, a weekly story sharing circle for the the ass-draggiest time of the afternoon on the ass-draggiest time of the last day between you and the weekend. Every week, we’ll ask a question, you’ll share stories, and we’ll pick a winner that’s featured in the next week’s post. It’s like a pyramid scheme of outdoing each other!

If you get a bunch of New York City residents imbibed enough in one place, once they’ve talked about how hard it is to find an apartment and what subways they take to get to work (“I take the L unless it’s fucked up, then I just walk to the M” “Oh the M isn’t bad!” “Yeah I don’t hate it.” “I take the G to the A/C.” “Ugh I’m sorry.” “I know.”), conversation frequently turns to tales of running into celebrities in the wild.

The longer a person has lived here, the more likely they are to have seen an A-lister, warped by years of fame, just going about their daily batshittery like it’s normal to wear 16 sweatshirts and a hat to get fro yo. Last year, Gawker’s Caity Weaver had a weird run-in with Amanda Bynes (bad-weird). A friend of mine who worked at a bar in Brooklyn once served Michael Cera and Alia Shawkat, aka George Michael Bluth and Maeby Fünke who were, dining together like besties (good-weird!). One Jezebel staffer once attended a party where she was roped into listen to an A-lister-cum-laughingstock “coke-ramble” about how he wanted to make an indie movie about “tap dancing.” Once I was out to dinner with Kate Dries and her family and Kate’s mom yelled at Drake for holding the door open and letting a breeze into the SoHo restaurant where we were all eating. Another Jezebel staffer once rode in an elevator with one of the internet’s favorite stand up comedians and he just faced the corner like a weirdo for the whole ride. Madeleine Davies once made hot cocoa for Snoop Dogg and his entire entourage. And when Jessica Coen was 14, Danny Devito pushed her out of the way while barging down the sidewalk (“I was standing in his way,” says Jessica, ever the Devito apologist).

Everyone’s got a strange celebrity encounter story. We want to hear yours.

But before we get to that, let’s take a moment to salute the winner of last week’s Pissing Contest on the topic of REVENGE. Take it away, doit2julia!

I did a fair amount of oat-sowing my freshman year of college. The school wasn’t known for its diversity, and I was one of the few black girls on campus. Since I stuck out like a sore thumb, most of my hookups were followed by a fair deal of boasting and gossip. Depending on your gender, I was commonly referred to as “the hot/slutty black girl.”

Toward the end of first semester, right before we broke for Xmas, the resident adviser hung up “wish lists” for each of the girls on my wing. It was a essentially just a sheet of paper with your name on it where your friends could come and scrawl inside jokes about things you wanted. I came back from class one afternoon to discover that my wish list had been filled with copious, slut-shaming references to my sexual exploits. It soon came to my attention that the culprits were four mean girls who lived at the other end of the wing. I was pissed but recovered quickly. My roommate made up a brand new wish list for me, even rewriting all the nice stuff from the original, and taped it over the first one. I was touched & relieved by the gesture. And within 12 hours, those goddamn bitches had yet again gleefully filled up the entire page with the kind of words one seldom reads outside of Pornhub video titles.

Now it was on like muthaflippin’ Donkey Kong. I was determined to hang these girls with their own rope. I tore the paper off the wall, grabbed a marker, and in my best approximation of their handwriting, scrawled the phrase “N****** WHORE.” Then I shoved it under the RA’s door along with an angry note demanding that she do something about the “racist pieces of shit in our dorm.”

Oh, it worked like a charm! The following day, I came home to a handwritten, double-sided letter of apology under my door. I summoned the four mean girls to my room and sat there composed as they stood twitching before me, begging my forgiveness, pleading with me not to report them to the disciplinary committee, and above all, beseeching me to believe they’d never ever write anything so horrible and racist. The bitchiest of them even cried out, “But my boyfriend’s black!” It was wonderful. They kissed my ass until I transferred out two years later.