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"Maybe one day, you find out one of your favorite artists is doing a meet and greet just down the street from you, and all you have to do to go is preorder his album. Which you were going to do anyway. In the weeks leading up to it you practice, over and over in your head, how you’ll walk up and say “hi, how are you?” in a calm, normal voice. Maybe you’ll shake his hand. You have a question you want to ask, so you practice that, too. Then the day comes and you wait in line for over three hours. Maybe four. It’s hard to remember clearly. But you eventually make it to the front of the line, and all your carefully planned, regular human words go right out of your head. You hand him the painting you brought for him, so that part happened at least. But then you find yourself rambling about a snail and trying not to piss your pants (you were in line for possibly four hours, remember). You get your picture taken, but you’re shaking the whole time, and squeaking, so he’d be forgiven for thinking you’re actually a large bat. Whatever question you wanted to ask is gone forever. Mostly, you just stammer and stare.

Then you’re out of there. And it happened. And you think you might be starting to black out the whole thing from terror, but the kind person handing out the signed posters helps you solidify everything in your mind.

And the really good news? You waited in line for maybe four hours, which means he met hundreds of other people that day. So he probably won’t remember you at all! But now you get to remember how nice your favorite artist was to you when you were so anxious you thought you might simply perish. And that’s pretty cool."