A happy memory to balance-out the poem. I once worked at one of those shopping channels Americans are drawn to. I was a floor director and had the task of putting microphones on the guests, giving camera cues and getting water for those not so shining bright starts who didn’t have personal assistants.
On one such occasion, I was putting a mic on Omar Sharif. He had to have been about 60 years old to my 20 and yet his charm had the strength of a Russian weightlifter. As I stood in front of him, asking the control room if they could test his mic, he spoke in his luxurious tongue saying “You have the most beautiful eyes” instead of the standard “1,2,3,4.” I was taken aback and smiled a shy grin. He then took my hand and kissed the top. Whatever happened to charm and class like that??