Kevin Pollak I had only been in San Francisco for a mere three days when I made my first friend. Of course by friend I mean celebrity friend. You might know him, or at least have seen him on the big screen. His name is Kevin Pollak, the actor. It just so happens that in addition to seeing him in the movies, I have also seen him up close. I may have even touched his hand while giving him incorrect change for a ten dollar bill, but I'm not going to say. Kevin Pollak and I, or "Kev" as I call him, hit it off right from the start. He ordered a venti latte and I stared at him as he waited for his drink, trying to figure out where I had seen him before. My first thought was, maybe he's from Columbus, Ohio. Then I realized he was a movie star. My first inkling was that he was wearing sunglasses indoors. Indoors! That just screams, "I'm trying to be inconspicuous." When he returned to the store a second time in one day I knew something was up. I got his name for his order, (this time a venti latte AND a grande latte) and proceeded to wrack my brain for a famous Kevin. I had been off work and sitting in bed for several hours before I got it. Pollak. I missed my chance, my brush with fame, and I mourned my lost opportunity to chat with a celebrity. I drowned my sorrows in a cup of tangerine orange zinger tea, the drink of choice ever since Pat and I visited the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in Colorado. I admit that we took advantage of the honor system, ignoring the "Please Take One!" sign over the samples at the end of the tour. I took solace in calling everyone in my family and telling them that I was 99% sure that I kind of met Kevin Pollak. It was still an exciting, albeit unconfirmed, brush with fame, thus my obligation to brag about it. Astonishingly enough, I found that my confidence in his identity translated to a far less interesting story about "Jeanne seeing a guy that looked like Kevin Pollak in Starbucks." My next day at work was full of great encounters too, as tourists from every nation barked orders for Frappucinos at me in heavily accented, broken English. As difficult as it is to speak a new language in a foreign country, a surly German man was able to articulate that in serving his coffee, I had not followed clear and extremely intelligible instructions to place the small coffee in a large cup. I believe his words were, "Why don't you just do it the right way like I ask you? You just wasted a cup." I did feel bad about wasting the cup, but I was comforted by the thought that at least I'm not a Nazi like his people. Finally, just as I mentally prepared to quit my job and storm out ( in a scene I will repeat in my head dozens of times in the weeks to come), my ray of sunshine, Kevin Pollak appeared. I had a second chance. As he approached the counter, I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach and tried to think of something to say. I was like a little schoolgirl trying to screw up the courage to talk to the 47-year-old actor that she has a crush on. A fierce battle was waging in my head as I debated whether I should say something and sound stupid or say nothing and let him get away again. I took his order (a venti soy latte) and I panicked. My heart was actually racing. Finally I said, "Hey, you look really familiar to me." He raised his eyebrows and simply said, "Well maybe it's because I've come in here every day for the last four days." Kevin was gruff and slightly sassy and I liked it. "No," I persisted, "I think it's something else. You really look familiar." He lowered his head and said, "Well, maybe it's because I'm in all your favorite movies." I had a bite. "Like The Usual Suspects??" I whispered back, quickly, not wanting to blow our cover. "That's right," he said, a hint of a smile. "Good job," I told him, apparently congratulating him on the Academy Award-winning film he had co-starred in nearly a decade ago. He thanked me for my approval and went on his way. I rode the Kevin Pollak high all night long and told all friends, family, and everyone else that doesn't work at my store. If Kevin came back, I wanted the exclusive rights to his attention. And sure enough, Kevin did come back. We exchanged knowing glances and chatted as he waited for his venti soy latte. We had a rapport and that was all that mattered to me. He told me he was leaving the next day and I thought that was the end of my affair with Kev. My next day at work was more atrocious than usual because I no longer had the hope to see a celebrity. Then of course, he appeared right before my eyes. I was visibly surprised by his presence and I said, "What are you doing here?" He smiled and said it was really the last time and he was leaving that night. "No tears," he told me. And there were no tears, because what we had was beautiful. Well, there were some tears eventually, but not for Kevin; more about how much I hate my job. I'll always have the memory of the venti and grande soy lattes he left with that day. I enjoyed the Kevin Pollak saga while it lasted. I never figured out who the second latte was for. Even Pat enjoyed hearing me talk about something other than my newfound hatred for overseas tourists at work. The memory began to fade after a day without Kev, and then I got a message from Hannah, my friend and former co-worker from Columbus, as well as one of the many I had told about Mr. Pollak. "Hey, Jeanne, didn't you say that Kevin Pollak or someone came into your store the other day? I guess he came into our store this morning." I was flabbergasted. This sounded like a cruel joke to me. But it was confirmed. Days after leaving San Francisco, and more importantly Jeanne Goshe, Kevin Pollak went straight to Starbucks in Upper Arlington Ohio, Store # 2644, the very store that I had worked in less than three weeks ago. It has since been deemed a coincidence, but I know that Kevin was looking for me when he ordered his venti soy latte, or "the Pollak special" as I now call it.