Like A Shit

Last weekend I posted a vote and asked you what what story you wanted to read the most - because I had a few up my sleeve.

After seven solid hours of voting the tale about a depressing episode at a gay sauna triumphed and thus it was.

The second most-wanted post was "the story of why I loathe Madonna after she was rude to me..."

Now read on...

So, I think I've mentioned that I work in a building that's pretty well-known for what gets made in it.

Due to the industry, there's always a celebrity on the premises and chauffeured limos parked out the front.

Do you remember the tsunami in Asia that struck on Boxing Day 2004? Well, at the beginning of 2005 the US network NBC held a "Tsunami Aid" concert to raise money for those affected.

Because Esther insists on pretending that somehow she's English (complete with ridiculous Bronx-meets-English countryside accent) she performed 'Imagine' live on the concert via satellite from London - from the building where I work.

I had heard she was in there because if you speak to the right people, word gets around. It was a Saturday night and I was working late.

I went to the viewing booth of the studio she was in and watched her attempting to murder the John Lennon song. Everytime she sang the words "and the world will be as one", she stuck her finger up in the air. Geddit?

Anyway, because of the time differences it meant that she was performing the song "live" in the States at around 1am London time.

Up until then I had always been such a huge fan of Esther.

I'd bought all her albums, I used to think she was the best. Seriously - in my room at the time I had a 6ft poster of the cover of American Life.

In my bedroom back in South Africa I have a massive poster of Ray of Light too. I was an impressionable young gay growing up in deepest-darkest Africa, how could I not have been attracted / in awe of her?

So it's 1am and I'm in the viewing booth at work when I could have been at home but I'm watching Madonna sing.

I was the only person there, sat there for nearly four hours watching her.

When the song and her link ended I suddenly had a brainwave. I ran back to the office - got a notebook and pen and made my way to the car park out the front.

At 1am in an office building in West London there's not much going on so it's pretty obvious who belongs to the big black tinted-windowed BMW.

The driver was waiting outside the car, spotted me and noticed my notebook & pen.

"She won't sign anything I promise you. You're wasting your time."

"But, I'm the only one stood here, it's 1am...? Surely she would just scribble her name, I've been such a fan of hers - since I can remember."

"I've been working for her for years, mate. She's not interested you lot anymore."

"Hmmm...". I figure the driver's only saying this because there must always be autograph hunters, and using the "I'm on your side" angle is a great way to get rid of pesky fans.

"Well, I have nothing to do so I'll just wait. I work here so I'm not trespassing or anything."

And we wait. And wait. It's about 1.30am, just me and Esther's driver, waiting.

Suddenly his phone rings once. He walks to the back of the car, opens the boot then back around to get in and start the engine.

And there she is, with what seems to be an assistant walking towards me. Fuck me.

I move back a bit but she is now about 4 feet from me. The woman, who I have idolised since I was about 11 years old is moving past me, so close I could have reaced out and touched her.

It's late - just me there, with my paper and Madonna. No bodyguards, no-one to move me away. I figure, just this once, despite what her driver said, maybe she'll do it.

Shaking, I reach out my paper and desperately found the words to say "Madonna - hullo - would you mind?"

She looked at me, now about to get into the car and saw the piece of paper and the pen. I can't describe the look she gave me.

It said "you worthless fucking piece of goddam shit - if you really think that I am going to stoop to your shit-stinking arse-wipe life and sign a fucken piece of paper for you - you must be joking, you motley cunt...".

She got into the BMW herself and slammed the door herself, as hard as she could. The car sped off, out of the parking lot.

And there I stood, alone on a cold January evening in a parking lot with my unmarked paper and pen.

The woman who I'd spent my all pocket money on as a child, whose songs I knew all the lyrics too had just completely, in one simple gesture, shat on my entire world.

The look she gave me stills sticks in my head.

I got home unable to speak. I ripped down the American Life poster, took all her albums and threw them into a shoebox.

All the enjoyment I'd ever found in her evaporated. Fuck you too.

If she had any decency she would have said "No, I'm sorry". Or even just "sorry." Had she smiled and shook her head I would have been cool.

She chose to be as rude as possible. Who sets out to be intentionally rude to someone who's done absolutely nothing in return?

The experience has taught me two things.

Firstly to never wait for an autograph again.

Secondly that no matter who you are, no matter from what standing in life, it is always right to treat people with respect. No matter what.

Esther can prance around Israel bleating as much as she likes about Kabbalah. She can adopt as many black babies as she wants. The fact is that people aren't going to like her more. And it's not going to make her a better person at all.

Growing up in South Africa and having worked in the media there, I have been privileged to have met Nelson Mandela in Cape Town on a number of occasions.

The high-point was being chosen as one of a handful of young journalists to be invited to Parliament to watch his last address as President of South Africa.

Everytime I've met him he's always been friendly, warm and has smiled. The funny thing about Mandela is that, ironically, he's so friendly that it always seems like he's pretending to know who you are.

Contrast that with the way Esther behaved on that Saturday night in January 2005.

And do you know what? What goes around, comes around.

From the Daily Mail, 23rd April 2007: "Madonna was supposed to see Nelson Mandela in South Africa after her visit to Malawi, but Mandela's people told her last week that Mandela was too busy to see her."