I just arrived in San Diego, and Doug Benson is in my hotel room, accompanied by a film crew. He wants water – cottonmouth – and I don’t want to make a fool of myself. Benson’s filming another marijuana-infused take-off on Morgan Spurlock’s oeuvre, and our meeting may or may not be in the resulting film. I clear my throat and try to stumble through the jetlag fugue which would, predictably, characterize my time on the west coast.
Having Benson in my hotel room was a highly unusual circumstance, and even he acknowledged it. The comedian had Tweeted a photograph from an elevator that my wife and I had recognized as the one and our hotel room. I asked him if he’d like to come up for an interview. I was surprised when my phone buzzed – a direct message – with a two word message: “Got smoke?” I tapped out a reply as quickly as I could – “Sorry, brother.” – and considered the matter closed. I did not have the necessary bait for my Doug Benson interview mousetrap. It was while I was unpacking that the phone buzzed again. He was on his way up.
Doug seemed just as surprised to be there as I was to have him. Had I caught him at his most blissed out and mellow? Was appearing for a fan just a lark? Both? Whatever the answer, he was game for our interview, and despite being obviously baked, he was quick-witted and charming. I live a strange life, I thought, watching the popular comedian lounging in a hotel room chair mere feet from my cheap carry-on suitcase.
Our interview was over in moments, and while there were some technical issues with the microphone (it’s not Comic Con unless something becomes unplugged, broken or otherwise inexplicably ruined), a little tinkering with the camera produced adequate results.
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