Mistaken Identity

I know this doesn't just happen to me or my family, but I swear it happens to us more than anyone else I know.
Once a week, at least, I am stopped by people who ask me if I am someone "famous." I'm not kidding. It doesn't just happen to me either. Let's start with my father.
A long time ago, when I was a young, cynical boy with promise, I was walking down Broadway with my father and one of my sisters. At the time, Burger King was running a promotion (yes, I have probably talked about this before) to find "Herb". If you saw Herb in a Burger King restaurant, you could win money. Now, Herb was a man with glasses, bald, and wore garish 80's sportcoats. Well, my father fit that same description, so as we walked by the BK, a man shoots out of the store and grabs my father. At the top of his lungs, he is screaming, "I've got Herb! I've got Herb," and he is attempting to drag my father into Burger King. Now my sister and I are young at this point, so when a rather large guy is dragging your father away, you can't really do much except scream or kick. We did both. My father, who I am still convinced is part of a super secret agency, managed to whip the guy off of him and into the door. Standing there ready to fight with his eyes blazing, my father asked, "what the hell is going on?!" The man, slightly dazed, said, "Aren't you Herb, man?" Within seconds, the manager of the BK came out and explained everything. Old Man Leab just looked at the manager and said, "That's preposterous. I'm not this Herb guy." And on our merry way we went...until it happened again ten blocks later. I'm not kidding. Another guy saw my father and screamed, "It's Herb! Hey man, I need the money. Come here, come here." It was at that point that my father realized, "we need to take a cab."
He's not alone in mistaken identity. At my college graduation, several of my classmates thought that my oldest sister was Winona Ryder. I'm sitting there in my department (Performing Arts), and several Psychology majors behind me are pointing at my sister and saying, "Dude, Winona Ryder is AT OUR GRADUATION!!!!" I tried to explain that the woman they were pointing to was my sister, but then it turned into, "Dude! This guy's sister is Winona Ryder!" And then the questions began:
"What was Johnny Depp like?"
"Is she working on any films now?"
And on and on it went. No matter how much I explained that my sister was NOT Winona Ryder, they just keep thinking I was lying.
And my mother and other sister have been mistaken for famous people. It's insane.
So why bring up these examples? Because I get mistaken for people at least once a week. For the last few weeks, I have been asked if I was one of the following people: either Greg Grunberg or, oddly enough, Kevin Smith. Obviously, I am now extremely self concious about how I look. Today had to be the weirdest experience of it. I was in a Richfield-based Electronics store (Ok, it was Best Buy), and the guy at the counter starts to ring me up and then looks at me. He stops, puts the scanner down, and says, "Hey, are you that guy?" You have to understand, I'm used to this at this point. I get it alot:
"Did we go to school together?" No.
"Are you that guy on TV?" No.
"Did you used to be blond?" God, NO!
"Wait, wait, wait. How do I know you?" Um, I don't know.
Anyway, as soon as he said "guy," everyone turned and looked. "Um, who do you think I am?" I asked. As the guy at the counter is about to ask, two women in the next lane, switch to my lane to be closer to me. At the same time, two other employees walk over. Now there is a crowd as the guy says, "That guy on Alias. He was also on that other show...uh...Lost. Played the pilot."
"Do you mean Greg Grunberg?" I put forward.
At this point, the women next to me are pulling pens and some sort of paper products out of their purses. I'm really not kidding. They are preparing to ask me for an autograph if I am Mr. Grunberg. More employees come over. Now, I don't really get embarrassed. I make a mistake, I laugh it off. Some confronts me, I stand my ground. It takes alot to make me get blush. And yet, as I try to explain to Counter Guy that I am not him, more people are arriving. Out loud, I say, "Folks, I'm not him. I'm sorry. I may look like him, but I'm not him." My embarrassment is not for me, but rather for the people who started toward me, because they thought I was a celebrity.
If people aren't mistaking me for some random celebrity (and I am not ripping on those two gentlemen), then they forget who I am immediately. I have a friend who tells me all the time that I would, "make a great terrorist." (Welcome to my blog, American Government. I hope you enjoy your viewing.) That's right. Apparently, according to him, I look like everybody else. Brown hair, brown eyes, regular height, regular build, nothing that makes me special.
We created a test when we were in college. A bunch of us went to a bar in very similar clothing. We waited until a gaggle (yes, like geese) of single women came in and sat down. Then I would go over and talk to them and buy drinks. After a few minutes, I would leave and go to the other side of the bar, but be in plain sight of the table. If you had met me or seen me, then you couldn't miss me. So, the guys would spread out around the bar. One of them would then go over and ask the ladies, "Hey, where's the guy you were just speaking with." Now, 4 out of 5 times (and the even occasionally five out five times), they would point at someone else. They even pointed at a blond guy once. A BLOND GUY! I have dark brown hair, people, and they pointed at a blond guy. And before you ask, no, the lighting wasn't bad.
So, there you have it. Either I am completely anonymous and forgotten (and thus ready for covert work), or people think that I am some random celebrity (and I just can't imagine hanging out in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota).
So, if you thought you saw someone in the corner of your eye, watch out! It just might be me. Now, back to my anonymity.