Don’t Take This the Wrong Way

David Sedaris has gotten me through some pretty tough times. Whether it’s divorce, death, or disaster, I read “Me Talk Pretty One Day” and know that everything’s going to be okay. So I was thrilled to hear he would appear at the John Drew Theater, directly across from the library where I work. As luck would have it, the show was sold out and I didn’t have a ticket. Being Facebook friends with the wife of the theater’s artistic director, I figured my best tactic was blatant begging.

I had been their son’s nursery school teacher and he had adored me, Kate always telling the story that I was his first love. He’s in high school now, but she always mentions it whenever I see them, which I’m sure he really appreciates. Nevertheless, I was an important part of his life, so they owed me. Kate couldn’t come through with a ticket but kindly invited me to the autograph session before the show.

I walked into the theater lobby, and there he was. A slight young man was kneeling worshipfully before him, talking earnestly. The kneeling posture gave me pause. Kneeling or bowing is a sign of reverence or submission. For David Sedaris, this was totally deserved. But should I, must I, kneel?

Luckily, Kate was right there and distracted me from this dilemma by handing me a Post-it, instructing me to write exactly how I wanted David Sedaris to autograph my book. This was a big decision, so I discussed it with everyone else waiting in line, letting go of my natural shyness and forming an instant bond because we were all meeting David Sedaris together!

The woman behind me quickly decided to have him write, “You can’t kill the Rooster,” which was clever, because by quoting a line from his book he would know she had read it. That would impress him, but I wanted something more personal. All I had come up with was “To Lisa” when the kneeling young man suddenly stood up and it was my turn.

I started off by telling him that his books have gotten me through tough times, I always recommend them to library patrons, and “Jesus Shaves” is the best story ever written. “Except for the Bible,” I said loudly, for the benefit of the minister who was next in line. I discreetly nodded in her direction so David wouldn’t think I was a religious fanatic. He seemed concerned, saying, “Why is there a minister here?” But after I whispered, “I know her and she’s cool,” he seemed to relax. He was really paying attention to me, so I decided to tell him my library school story.

I prefaced it by saying, “I’m going to tell you something, but don’t take this the wrong way.” That really got his attention. His eyes widened in alarm, as in, “Is this the deranged fan I’ve been waiting for all these years?”

I noted his reaction but bravely continued: I had gone back to graduate school in my 40s to earn a master’s degree in library science at Queens College. Always the good student, I sat at the front of the class (until my last semester when I was so burnt-out from working a full-time job while commuting to Queens that I sat in the back row with the smokers, who made snide comments and took frequent breaks). I participated in class discussions, but because of my shyness my contributions were always well-planned-out comments of a professional nature.

One night, the class was assigned to read humorous essays, one of the authors being David Sedaris. This was exciting. We were going to discuss the brilliant comedic genius of my favorite author! A bonus of the assignment was that I had already read all of his books numerous times, so it was going to be an easy week.

The following week, the class discussion began with a student complaining that she really didn’t think David Sedaris was all that funny, calling him “whiney.” Other students chimed in with agreement. I was outraged. Something rose up within me and I let them have it. “What? What is wrong with you people?” I blasted. “David Sedaris is a masterful and witty satirist . . . he is not whiney! Come on, he is so funny! What about his mom, Sharon? When she locked all five kids out of the house during a snowstorm and they tried to get the youngest sister to lie down in the road and get run over so Sharon would let them back in? That’s funny!”

The room went quiet, stunned into silence. The professor surely must have agreed with me, but she diplomatically smoothed it over and we moved on. (When telling David the story, I left out the word “whiney,” feeling that it was just too hurtful. When replaying it in my mind later, I realized he totally could’ve handled it.)

What my classmates — and other people who read one or two of his stories and then make a judgment — don’t understand is that it’s not just that we like his stories and think he’s funny. We love him. We know him and his siblings and his parents, Sharon and Lou; he’s let us into his life and laid it bare. So, sure, some of his stories might fall a little flat, especially the earlier ones where he was on crystal meth and in the throes of obsessive-compulsive disorder. But he had told us about all that and we understood and forgave him, loving him all the more for his humanness.

My fear of hurting his feelings because some crazy people/losers don’t think he is funny was assuaged when he responded to my story with a piece of advice. “What works for me when people don’t think something is funny is this: I say, ‘Why are you being so difficult?’ ” We both laughed. I was laughing with David Sedaris! I knew the people waiting in line were jealous.

Then he told me a story of his own. He once met a young aspiring writer who had told his English professor that the author he most wanted to emulate was David Sedaris. The professor advised, “Perhaps you should set your sights a bit higher.” We laughed again.

I didn’t want to leave him, we had a lot more to talk about, but the line was building and I could see others were getting anxious. So I bade him goodbye, telling him how much it meant for me to meet him and thanking him for being such an important part of my life.

I immediately went to my new friends still in line so we could all read together what he had written: To Lisa, I’m so happy you’re a librarian. David Sedaris.

Lisa Michne, a librarian at the East Hampton Library, grew up in Bridgehampton and lives in Springs.

David Sedaris will appear at Guild Hall’s John Drew Theater on July 27 at 8 p.m.