I met Sandy from The O.C.

and it was the least interesting part of my day

I met Sandy from The OC and it was the least interesting part of my day. Don’t get me wrong - he was fascinating, charming, interesting, charismatic, fun. I thought, in advance, that I’d do a ‘What Did You Do Yesterday’ type post, that would lead up to me meeting Sandy from The OC as the highlight of my day. But like an episode of The Tommy Tiernan Show, where you tune in to see the President, but spend the rest of the week thinking about the probation officer in Portlaoise who was interviewed after him, it was the ordinary people I met that made my day.

Let’s start with Sandy. My husband and I were invited to a small dinner at the Residence of the Consul General of Ireland, where the guest of honour was “award winning star of stage and screen, Peter Gallagher”. I had no idea who Peter Gallagher was but because I’d go to the opening of an envelope, I said yes. A few days later, I googled Peter Gallagher, half expecting to see some decrepit Irish stage actor, so imagine my delight when what greeted me was the beautiful face of Sandy from The OC!

That evening, as we left our building, a yellow taxi pulled up at our door. We got in as our neighbours got out, and said “UN Plaza, please” to the driver. “This is what I thought our life would be like here”, I said to my husband, “casually going to the Residence of the Consul General of an evening”. Well, what’s seldom is wonderful. And it has been seldom. When we arrived at the Consul’s building, we shared a lift up with Sandy from The OC! We acted like he was any other guy. We asked him where he had come from in the city and he said Columbus Circle and we said so did we! We are neighbours of Sandy from The OC! My husband quickly worked into conversation that he is from Roscommon and Sandy from The OC said “Get outta town, so am I!” (We already knew this and we should be award-winning actors ourselves with the fake surprise we showed when he told us).

We enjoyed a lovely meal, great company and then Peter Gallagher was interviewed by Samantha Barry and I’m not exaggerating when I say he was the best storyteller I’ve ever seen. The stories he told of visiting family in Ireland in the 1980s - you could be offended by his descriptions of small towns and the people in them for being too Irish-cliché, if they weren’t so hilarious and absolutely, definitely true. And the impressions! He jumped out of his chair to do an impersonation of Peter O’Toole. He told us how he is always cast as Italian or Polish - but never Irish, and he didn’t know why - and I briefly considered doing my first heckle, but I bottled it at the last minute and said only a little bit loud: “It’s because you’re too good looking”. My husband at the next table turned round to laugh because he always hears my jokes.

A great night was had by all but what happened the rest of the day?

It was a rainy day and I had errands to do but all of the errands were nice things like nails, hair and eyebrows. First up was a manicure. I searched high and low for my headphones but never found them, so had to go into an hour’s manicure with nothing but my own thoughts for company.

I picked out a red (which I consider a neutral). My husband always says he likes when I’ve red nails because it reminds him of his Granny. This is not at all the vibe I was going for but let’s park that and try not to think of it any further. I count 16 women and one man in the small salon and not one person is talking. I have nothing to tune into.

Near the end of the appointment, a neighbour comes in, sits beside me, and very cheerily says “We keep running into eachother!”. I really like this woman. She is clearly up for a chat. But I cannot remember her name and am completely paralyzed by this fact, even though I absolutely don't need her name to converse. “She hasn't used your name!”, I tell myself. “Just speak!”. But it's all I can think of: “I've forgotten your name, I’ve forgotten your name”. I give short-ish answers, while trying to be friendly, but I know that I seem aloof. I pay and go and the moment I'm out the door I think: GRETA! Fucking Greta. I kind of want to go back in and breezily chat to her but that would be even weirder.

The potential for eavesdropping is better in the hair salon. The woman next to me is telling her stylist about her new grandson, Palmer. She mentions three times that she never heard it was a name before and even though she says it is “darling”, I can tell that she hates it.

I heard the man behind me tell his stylist that he wants a “classic men's traditional haircut”. The stylist somehow doesn't ask him to elaborate on that and simply gets to work. Every so often, I glance up from my book to see how the man is getting on with his classic men's haircut. I actually become obsessed with him, wondering what the hell brought him in here today. Is he an actor going for the role of a traditional man? Has he just woken up from a coma and doesn’t know the current fashion? Is he mega rich and doesn't know that men go to barbers for traditional men’s haircuts? At one point when I look up, he has 3 clips in his hair and the process doesn’t feel very traditional. He is pleased with the final result, however, and for context, he is a 28 year old white man who arrives in with hair like Dean from Gilmore Girls and leaves with hair like Dean from Gilmore Girls, if Dean from Gilmore Girls got a trim.

Next up is the brow salon and here I hit the eavesdropping jackpot. Two women beside me, both in their 20s, are discussing the merits of different American cities. They both love their home states (Montana and Michigan) and when the Montana girl boasts about all the best things to do there, it is very helpful for me because we are planning a trip there. When Montana leaves, Michigan (who works in the salon) goes over to another client to say hello. The other client is in her 60s and her eyes are closed because she is getting her lashes done. They discuss shows they've seen recently and great books that they've read and I’m really trying to keep a mental list of these books because they are raving about them so much.

I’m all finished up, and go to the till to pay, which is positioned very close to the book chat and the older lady says to Michigan: “We should start a book club. It can be the old and young book club”. At this point I pipe up to ask can I also be in the book club and I'm welcomed to the fast chat about what I’m reading and what I'd recommend and the woman who had been doing my brows, who had been silent until now, adds that she is reading a book that her grandfather wrote.

I pay and leave and I notice I'm disappointed that no one actually set up the book club and that it was just a sort of funny thing to say in the middle of an enjoyable conversation. I went home and went about my day. Collected the kids from school, did all the usual things, had dinner with Sandy from the OC.

When we got home from dinner with Sandy from The OC, it was 10:30pm and David said let’s call into the package room to see if we’ve any deliveries. One woman was standing at the counter with her packages piled high and even though her eyes were now open, I recognised her. It was the reader from the salon! She lives in my building! “Oh hi”, I said. “We spoke today! In the brow salon! About books!”. I told her I'd love to actually set up the book club and she said she would too and she gave me her card.

After she’d left, David asked me what she did for a living. I hadn't actually looked because I was looking at her name and email address but there on the card, along with her name and email address, was her profession. And like a person who appears on Grand Designs, who walks llamas for a living but somehow has a budget of six million pounds, what does this woman do that keeps her in a very comfortable Manhattan life? She is a mahjong consultant.