Back in the November of 1997, my mom, grandmother and grandfather all buddied up and went along with my grandparents' senior adult tour group up to New Yoke City. That's how I say it, so...deal. We were on a tour bus and stopped at several places along the way. If you want to travel, go with a senior adult group. They are the best people to hang with. They're pretty crazy, so go prepared. They stay up late partying. Mom and I were the youngest ones and before too long, we were like, "Guys...come on, it's getting pretty late. Let's start quieting down. Lights out." And that was just on the bus. Imagine what the hotels were like...the elderly running up and down the halls, slamming doors, daring each other to streak on the third floor. Geriatrics.
When we got to the Big Ole Apple, we did the regular tourist stuff...bought some drugs, yelled at a cabbie, got spit on by a street urchin, the usual. We really had a good time. It's a beautiful city...especially at night. One of those nights, we went to see Titanic the Musical on Broadway. I'm across the street from the theatre, taking pictures of who knows what, and my mom yells to me to join the group. Being from the South, I'm used to cars stopping for pedestrians, rolling down their windows and carrying on a 20 minute conversation with you. Not in New Yoke. Just like Buddy the Elf says, the yellow ones don't stop. And I was jaywalking, so...anyways. I'm scurrying across the street and right as I'm about to reach the curb, this black silver mass appears out of nowhere...gleaming and sparkling in the night lights...right in front of me, cutting off my escape to the curb. The passenger door is directly in front of me...it opens. Out steps none other than Ferris Bueller. A bit older and a little more filled out, but Ferris. He gives me a smile and a nod and (of course I'm just standing there staring) reaches back ever so gentlemanly into the darkness of the car's interior and out slithers this skinny white arm...a mass of curls emerges. It's Sarah Jess (that's what she told me to call her). She looks up at me as she alights upon the shiny black concrete and says, "I'm so sorry about that. We're running a little bit late and trying to rush through traffic. Ha ha ha..." She had a sing-songy laugh. Mattie grabbed her arm and they darted across the street, to the front of a hotel...glittering with photographer's lights. I stood there...camera (with twelve pictures left) in hand, not one of them of the petite couple...snapped out of it and rushed to my group, excited to tell them of my adventures with the Brodericks. Of course, I'm like, "Mom (gasp)! I just almost got (gasp) hit by a car. And inside the car (gasp) was Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick (gasp)!" Waiting for Mom to join in the teenage girl dance with me. "Who's that?" she says. Which is the response I got from most of the group. Sigh.
Oh, well. What I got from my brief encounter with the Brodericks is that they thought I was presh and that I should call and write often and that we should be best friends...so, we are. Who cares that she dresses weird or that he hasn't made a movie in 107 years...it's Ferris Bueller and that girl from Flight of the Navigator and they (ahem) we are fabulous.
I totally remember this story!!! You told me as soon as you got home and I couldnt BELIEVE it!
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