I have always secretly wanted to be someone important. Not like the president or someone who makes a sex tape. Important like a person who lives close to a stadium and gets to charge people to park on their lawn. That was the best part of going to Dodgers games with my dad as a kid- parking on someone’s lawn. Oh how I envied and admired those families, sitting on their porches, promising to watch our car and at the same time looking like they were going to beat us up. The dad or drunk uncle would stand in the yard in his dirty tank top with a handful of cash smiling a near toothless smile and squinting into the sun. Unfortunately that was never in the cards for me. I never got to walk around in my bikini and heels as a ring girl in a boxing match. I never worked security at the airport, “randomly” selecting people to wave my beepy wand on. I never even got to wax a hairy back and complain about it. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that level of importance was working at Popeye’s behind bulletproof glass. I collected sweaty singles from strippers and counted hundreds of pennies from angry old ladies. Every day I worked there, at least one customer swore they would never return, but they always did because it was open 24 hours. One day, a woman threw her chicken at my face, but it hit the bulletproof glass in front of me instead and slowly slid down to the floor. Then she said “now look what you make me do bitch,” and walked out. That day I felt really important.