Pretty much the best story ever told. Er, written. Whatever.

I met the lead singer of Journey once.  Steve Perry. 

Steve motherfucking Perry.

I was working at a restaurant in LA called Palomino and he came into the bar for a late lunch.  I recognized him immediately.  We had an amazing salad called the chopchop.  There’s romaine, basil, salami, turkey, cubed cheeses and a thickly rich balsamic dressing.  I think that’s it. Basil and Balsamic. Steve Perry.

Naturally, my first response was to start singing in the back kitchen hallways as I finished my closing duties.  The hallway stretched through the entire restaurant like an artery, opening into the dining room at three different ventricles. 

Just a small town girl…

The dishwasher, an enormous black man who started every story with, “…I knew this guy, man…” smiled at me as I walked past, my volume slowly rising into a different tune.

Some day, love will find you…

Well apparently Steve was a regular (I had been there at least a year and not seen him at this point) and my manager knew him.  The manager stopped me in the back hallway.  “Noah.  Come here.”   I turned the corner and wham. Steve Perry.

Steven Ray Perry reached out his hand and I shook it, and said something dumb.  He smiled and said,  “So you’re the one who’s been murdering my songs?”

Unbeknownst to me, my singing had been amplified by the cavernous hallway and had flooded into the empty restaurant like a tsunami.  Evidently Mr. Perry heard my siren song and asked my manager who was singing and the rest is history.

So, that’s pretty cool.