Get mistaken for someone famous, don't correct them
but it is devoid of true promise, as I shall attempt to show.
There are several parts to this wannabe bucket-list item; the being mistaken bit, the question of who it is one is mistaken for, who it is that is doing the mistaking and the consequences of disillusioning them.
1. Being Mistaken
This is the hardest part. How do you become mistaken for someone else? Presumably it has to be someone you closely resemble. Merely wandering around, say, Ruislip station, and going up to people saying "That's simply splendid and what do you do?" will not guarantee that you will be taken for Prince Charles. Equally, donning sunglasses and insisting on "No photos, please" as you sweep into the chemists will probably not mean the assistant gasping and saying "Oh, Clint, I loved you in The Good, The Bad and the Ugly." Nor will entering the South African High Commission and going "Zulus. Farsands of 'em" convince anyone that you are indeed Michael Caine.
Wearing a rubber latex mask makes it easier for the public to work out who you are supposed to be but reduces the chances of you being mistaken to pretty well zero. Because famous people do not wear masks depicting themselves.
In short you might spend a long time before anything happens and, if it finally does happen when you are sitting in your retirement home and another inmate decides you are Cary Grant, this is hardly going to count.
2. Mistaken for whom?
Who might some poor deluded innocent bystander take you to be? Do you, in fact, resemble anyone well known? In my case the answer is no. This means that, should some sort of ghastly mistake actually occur, then I won't know who it is I am supposed to be. The consequences are likely to be something like this
PDIB: "It's you. It is! OMG! I don't believe it. I thought you were in Japan!"
Self: "Er, no, well, I was, of course, but I'm not now. I'm here, as it happens"
PDIB: "They said you were having therapy and writing a novel. And Billy-Sue! You're not really going to give her up are you? It would break my heart"
Self: "Ah no, dear old Billy-Sue, we're going to get back together very soon"
PDIB: "I'm so glad. I adore that dog"
Self: "Umm ... yes, so do I ..."
And on you flounder, unable to come clean to the fan because the rules of this bucket-list item are that you don't correct them.
3. The Mistaker
But now we should consider who it is that is button-holing you. In the ideal case they will be thrusting out a grubby envelope for an autograph and taking selfies. But suppose it is a large, well-muscled gentleman with a scar or two and plenty of gold jewellery on his big, gnarled hands:
"Harry Arkwright! Gord, I don't believe it. It's you, ain't it? Standing here large as life. Jeez, Harry, last I heard you were doing a ten stretch in Wandsworth. Put it there my old son, I gotta tell the boss, this is great, we need a getaway driver for our latest job and you're the perfect man."
Do you risk enlightening your new friend and put yourself at serious risk of several mouthfuls of knuckles and a clear threat to "Shut it or else"? Or go along with it and find yourself really doing a ten stretch in Wandsworth?
4. The Consequences
We have moved into the final part of our little discussion. Perhaps the forgoing was a little extreme but who knows what a disappointed and potentially angry member of the public may do when you finally let on that you are not really Rihanna/ United's new Portuguese striker/The President of the North Ruislip Fruiterers Association after all. Remember the whole point of this achievement is to string them along, either actively by telling them what you, Tiger Woods, Hugh Grant, a Kardashian and that ballerina got up to that steamy night in Acapulco, or at any rate by nodding, grinning inanely for the cameras and dropping in the odd "You're too kind" and "Do please look me up the next time you're in Monte".
Sooner or later the pretence will falter, the mask will slip and their adoring eyes will fill with the wild uncontrolled anger of the deceived. Will you able to outsprint them up the High Street or do you go down under a flurry of handbags and "Oogh, the cheek, did you hear who he said he was, the lying toe-rag"?
Usually with a decent bucket-list attainment there is something to look back on with pride or a lasting satisfaction. That long cycle road over the mountains. The glorious sunset over the Grand Canyon. Working the equivalent of a con-trick on innocent and unsuspecting members of the public does not stand comparison. I am not going to go along with it. The next time I am accosted in the street with the delighted cry of "Hey, you're that guy in the pub on Emmerdale" I shall stop, smile, and say pleasantly "No, I'm afraid not. I'm the guy he talks to but you never see me on camera" and I shall pass on my way leaving them baffled yet somehow vindicated.
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