I met Giuseppe Marotta at a restaurant once - we’d accidentally been given his table. Apparently he was fond of the restaurant and had a specific table he liked, and the management had messed up and gotten their days wrong, (it was Tuesday and they thought he was coming on Thursday or something like that).
Anyway, the manager, completely embarrassed (this is a pretty nice restaurant) comes by and says “I’m so sorry, but we’d like to move you to another table if you could be troubled, and we’ll gladly compensate you for the cost of the meal and any other meal you’d like while you’re in town.” My sister and cousin were both like “Yeah that’s cool.” and I kind of played the asshole a bit.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand. We’ve been here for 15 minutes - we’ve just ordered. Can’t we finish our meal here?”
Then out of nowhere Beppe shows up next to the manager and says “Paul, these guys can finish. We’ll be at the bar. I got some time.”
And I (being a big Beppe fan) said “Oh wow, uh… I had no idea. Please feel free to give them the table.”
Marotta was grateful, shook my hand and said thanks, then gave me a card with his number on it and told me to give him a call later. After working up the nerve, I gave him a call that night, and to make a long story short, we had a glorious 11 month love affair, man on man, that I shall never forget. Our bodies intertwined as one, and from the beauty of Morocco, to the French Riviera, to the snorkeling in the Galopagos, Beppe and I made glorious gay love to each other on six of the seven continents.
True story.
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