It’s been a little over four years since that fateful night, and I’ve never had the courage to come forward with my story. I’ve been shocked, upset, and utterly embarrassed. But now, I feel it’s time to use this forum to officially issue a public apology to David Wain.

What follows is my story – one of excitement, one of intrigue, and inevitably, one that he probably doesn’t even remember. But I wouldn’t feel right unless I finally set the story straight.

It all began with my youthful exuberance. I was a big fan of The State, going as far as making my AOL screen name “ChknSandwichCarl”. In between pornography sessions (the web felt so alive back then), I came upon (not literally) the “Official” web site for The State. It had an e-mail address on it to send fan mail or whatever, so I dropped the typical ignorant line that a nineteen year old would send to one of his comedic inspirations:

“Dude you guys rule!!!!1!”

I was surprised when I got a response, simply stating “Cool screen name.” I mean, I had sort of had a really quick e-mail “conversation” with none other than David Wain!

A few months later, “Wet Hot American Summer” came out. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the movie/don’t think it’s funny, I hate you. I saw it and of course it was great, so I decided to shoot another e-mail to Mr. Wain. This time, I offered more insightful comments such as “Your movie ruled” and “Dude the gay sex thing was HILARIOUS!” I closed the e-mail saying that if there was anything I could do to help promote the movie, I’d love to do it.

An e-mail came back telling me to pick up some WHAS postcards from an office on Canal Street, and to stand in front of the theater in Times Square and hand them out, to try and get people to see the movie. Mr. Wain had even said he would meet up with me and buy me a milkshake or something for my efforts.

I handed the cards out, and he never came, which wasn’t a big deal. He apologized and said he owed me one. I was just super-psyched to be helping these guys out, even if it was in such a small, not even really helpful way.

Fast forward to a few years later. I was looking for an internship in college, and saw that the stand-up version of Stella was about to have a bunch of new shows. So I e-mailed David once more, to ask him if there were any internships available for the Stella show. There weren’t any internships available, but because he’s a nice guy he said I could help them with their video shoot for the weekend. David gave me a number to reach him at in case I was running late and was having any trouble.

And that, my friends, is where the story goes horribly wrong.

The shoot went fine, though I felt hideously out of place, and I got VIP seats to the Stella show that week. Great story, right?

Of course not. Fast forward once more. To my 21st birthday. Car-Bombs. Mind Erasers. Three Wise Men shots. Tequilla. A typical Wednesday evening now, but then…bad news.

My friends drag me out of the bar. They take me to White Castle. Something’s in my pocket…what could it be…it’s…it’s my phone! Wow…you know what would be a really GREAT idea? If I started calling every single person in my phone book, starting at “A”.

I got to “D”.

I skipped “Dad”.

The phone rang a few times, and the voicemail picked up. I left the following message:

“Heyyyyy David…what’s up, it’s Kevvvv. Ya know…Chicken Sandwich Carl on the AOL. Lisssssten, I just wanted to say…THANK YOU. Thank you for letttttting me hang out with you guysssssss. No…SERIOUSLY…you are the…you are the BEST. You guyssssare soooooooooo awesome. Thank you SOOOOOOOO much for the oppor…opportunitunuty…to…you know…just HANG OUT with you guyssss-“

My fifteen minute ramble was a interrupted by a click.

“Hello?”
“David?”

Ah. Guess I wasn’t leaving a message on his voicemail, after all. Guess I was leaving a horrific drunken ramble on his answering machine. At 1 AM.

“Dude. It’s 1 in the morning. That’s UNCOOL.”

Click.


I mean, we’ve all had a situation like that. It’s just not usually with someone you consider a comic idol. The next few weeks I wondered, “Do I call back and apologize? Do I just forget it? The poor guy is probably changing his number, God, I’m so STUPID!!”

Of course, there’s a possibility he just went to sleep and forgot it happened.

But in the event that that is not the case, David, if you’re reading this, I would like to extend a heartfelt apology for drunk dialing you on my 21st birthday. It was an incredibly moronic thing to do, and yes, I know, I’m retarded.

I must admit, it does feel a lot better to finally have that off my chest.

Actually…I’m just kidding. That story never happened. SUCKAS!