My private jet arrived at O'Hare Airport on the evening of my 50th high school reunion in Chicago.
I was picked up at the airport in a private car and taken to the hotel where the reunion was being held.
I arrived in the banquet hall and was immediately escorted to the stage where I was introduced to rousing applause.
I was approached by my boyhood friend, Todd, who whispered into my ear that the electric guitar and amplifier were set up for me and that he had insured the organizing committee that I would perform as soon as I arrived.
I picked up the guitar, which I noticed was the exact make and model of the guitar I normally played, and went to the microphone to say a few words before performing my latest hit song.
After my performance, I sat down at my assigned table and was greeted again by Todd, who thanked me for performing without any prior notice. He said I was "good sport" and saved him humiliation had I not attended the reunion or performed.
I asked Todd how he knew what guitar and amp to get and he told me he had seen me play them in photos on my social media accounts.
There were only a few people I recognized at my table and I kept asking Todd who the people I didn’t recognize were and, to my dismay, I didn't even recognize their names when he told them to me.
Two of my former classmates, both named Mark (Marc and Mark), came over to say hello and told me that even though we hadn't been close friends in high school, they always new I'd become famous and had followed my career over the years.
Then I woke up.