I was at work this week, making sales calls. I barely heard it, but an older guy on a bench said, “Excuse me, sir.” I turned, expecting to be hit up for change or handed a religious flyer. “Have you been to the Dayton music festival? There was a guy that I swear was you that did the most beautiful tap dance I’ve seen.”
I thought about saying yes, but then I realized he would talk to me about tap dancing for 15 minutes or expect me to softshoe right on the street. Then I started thinking, did he really see a 205 lb. angry bearded white guy tap dance? I must find this doppleganger and end him, before he does more damage. At that moment, I realized he was still staring at me, awaiting an answer.
“No, I don’t tap dance. My wife will get a kick out of this though. She loves my dancing.” He was crestfallen. “Are you sure? Those shoes look like tap shoes.” He pointed at my dress shoes, which were black, but in no other way like tap shoes. I then became aware this guy probably assumes every guy with black shoes is Fred Astaire. I also came to the sad realization that I’ve been confused for a tap dancer about a quarter as much as I’ve been recognized as a comedian. Time to learn to tap.