If a guy with a name like Fisnik asked you out, what else would you do but leap into his arms and move to Yellowknife with him, where you would live with his dysfunctional family of yelling immigrants in a house on stilts?
That was the question I asked Bill Murray that day in 2003, on a tiny plane from Yellowknife to Edmonton. He was sitting beside me, right beside me. He had been up in Northern Canada hunting things with his agent, Bruce, and one of his sons. At first I pretended like I didn’t know who he was. I kept to myself and read my Glamour and ignored him for at least the first five minutes of the flight. But then I started thinking to myself.
You are on a plane with BILL FUCKING MURRAY FROM GHOST BUSTERS.
I cleared my throat.
Words: Beyonce Schmidt