If you watch Parks and Recreation you know there is a character named Ron Swanson who likes to eat bacon and has a mustache. Enough said. His ridiculous ability to consume pig meat inspires my friends and I to no longer refer to him by a human name but simply by Bacon. (By the way, the fact that I am still able to worship someone that I call Bacon, despite my vegetarianism, says something.)
Once in school a girl introduced herself and I picked up on the fact that her last name was Swanson. Forgetting that I was living in real life, I started hyperventilating. Then I realized Ron Swanson was not his real name (happens all the time) and this Swanson was not related to Nick Offerman.
Many mornings ago I was sitting in my dads room on his magnificent computer writing an essay. It was 6:00 AM and I had just started the first page. Distracted by the sunrise, I turned my head to look out the window.
On a balcony directly across from my window stood a man with a mustache and I swear he was eating bacon.
This was over a year ago. Since then I have come to several revelations about Nick Offerman.
One, he is buds with my grandparents.
My grandpa is a successful playwright, and basically knows everyone. No big deal. Once I was casually talking about my obsession with Nick Offerman while at a Steakhouse (where he is very relevant) when my grandparents told me they knew him. They casually would have dinner with him and his wife, Megan Mullally, years ago when they lived in New York.
I, obviously, practically fainted when I heard that. I remember reaching into my pocket for my phone to show them that his face was my screen saver.
And second, I almost met him.
A few days ago my grandma texted me, "Nick Offerman at Barnes & Noble Weds 7pm Union Square." Apparently he wrote a book about canoeing and was having a book signing.
It was all I talked about that day. But though I told practically everyone I knew and begged them to come with me, everyone had "too much work." Honestly, I didn't even care. I went by myself.
Stupidly, I decided to arrive on-time instead of hours early. Obviously, I have been deprived of sleep recently, because in order to see someone like Nick Offerman you need to wait on line for a long time. So, when I entered the bookstore, crazy-eyed with a huge grin, trying to find the space where he was, I was stopped by a security guard.
“Fourth floor is closed ma'am.” She said.
“Can you repeat that please?”
“Fourth floor is full.”
“Is that where Nick Offerman is?”
“So, I can not see Nick Offerman.”
“So, I will not be seeing him.”
“That is correct.”
“So, he will not be seen by me today.”
“If you would like to wait in line you can get a book signed by him, the line starts on the first floor.”
I was so disappointed. So disappointed that I began negotiating with the officer. I was wearing at the time a necklace my friend Nina gave me. The necklace had a miniature harmonica on it that usually has people in awe. (Though that might be due to the fact that I will periodically make music with it and then pretend as though I did not, causing people to look around suspiciously trying to understand where the music is coming from.)
I jokingly told her that if she let me up to the fourth floor, I would give her this famous harmonica necklace.
She looked me dead in the eye and repeated, “If you would like to wait in line you can get a book signed by him, the line starts on the first floor.”
“How long do you think I will have to wait?”
“Two or so hours.”
But as much as I wanted to, I had to be at least somewhat responsible. High school seniors have a lot of work to do. So, I left. And did not meet him.
I swear to god Barnes and Noble, you will regret not letting me see Nick Offerman.I may use bacon as a bookmark or something.