I had a friend who was crazy about Johnny Depp.
I mean, she wasn’t just crazy, she was obsessed about that man so much so she once posted a Facebook photo on her wall which read “If I die, tell Johnny Depp I loved him.” Under the comment below she wrote, “Someone please do this, I’ll treasure you!”
I found it weird and stupid but a week later she died in a car crash and so, me being a good friend, decided to do what was necessary; phoning Johnny and telling him that my friend loved him.
I tried looking around for his number and it took me nearly three-months to get it. I was lucky enough to have a friend working in the industry and luckily, he had this friend who was a friend of this producer who was the friend of a film director of one of the films Johnny acted in and after much cajoling (not to mention a large amount of money spent on booze to keep him happy) the man finally agreed to pass us Johnny’s number.
Feeling excited, I called and after three tries Johnny picks up the phone.
“Hullo?” his voice deep and he sounded bored.
“Hi Johnny!” I said.
“Hullo? Who’s this?”
I kept silent because in my mind, for some reason, I felt like blurting out, “Depp, I’m your father.” But I didn’t and after about a few mili-seconds I said, “Johnny, you don’t know me.”
He sighed and raised his voice, “Tell me who the fuck are you?”
I was sweating profusely. Here I was, talking to a movie star.
“I’m not your number one fan. Infact I’m not your fan but-”
He cut me off, “Then why the fuck did you call me for?”
I wiped the sweat on my brow and continued, “But I called to let you know that my friend loved you.”
There was a deafening silence.
He broke it, “Fuck you!” and he hung up.
I felt really sorry for my friend but at least I tried.