Do you believe that Rick Riordan fans are everywhere?
Surely I wasn’t expecting to meet someone who knew about his work last Monday. I was at the bank, sitting and waiting for my turn to be called. Nothing unusual at the place but just the hum of machines, chatter of people, and echoes of footsteps. In short: boring.
To keep boredom away, I bring a book and read. And that day, I had with me Riordan’s latest work. It was on top of the papers and other documents I had to pass to the cashier.
Less than a minute into the reading, I was already immersed into the book. I have found myself in Camp Jupiter in the company of Frank, Hazel, and Percy the son of Neptune.
“Son of Neptune?”
Caught by surprise (with my both my earphones on and music on full blast), I asked what the question was again without looking at who spoke. I took off my earphones and he repeated what he said. And I said yes, yes it is.
But what was more surprising was when I actually looked at the inquirer. It was one of the security guards. Normally, it’s part of their duty to see if the client has filled all the right spaces on the paper and has been duly authorized for the process. And that’s all they’ll be talking to you about—that and if you’re out of line with the bank rules.
I have been to this many times before and I have seen him a lot. He has directed where I should sit and when I should stand. SOP. But sometimes I found it irritating, especially if I already have an annoying headache even before coming in. Like that day.
At that moment, he didn’t have that usual boom in his voice, the rigidity in his stance, or the seriousness on his face. For the very first time, he looked friendly, even sounded nice.
He asked if it was any good. I affirmed it.
But I guess my affirmation could’ve used some more conviction. A persistent headache could spell the difference about how you could convince someone or lose him.
Personally, I thought I did a bad job. I may have been in the mood to read, but that was to help me focus on something other than the pain in my head. And as much as I liked having a talk with a supposed Riordan fan, I couldn’t be as charming or engage him that long because my number was up.
Last thing I heard from him was his confusion, if Son of Neptune was the one that was turned into a movie. The hell it is! At that moment, I really forgot my headache at the mention of that movie. If I was a son of Neptune, I could’ve busted the pipes at the bank with just a mere reference to that movie. Thankfully, I’m not.
Guess that’s why I had a headache. It’s possible that, if I hadn’t, I would’ve been in a conversation about that movie when I’d rather talk about the book—or any book—as long as it’s Riordan’s work. From one fan to another.
Wait! Was he really a fan? What do you think?