The second time I met OJ Simpson.

It was right after the trial of the century. There I was, now a young man of probably 23. OJ Simpson was the most famous, or infamous, face on planet Earth. I was in a restaurant in Beverly Hills with my agents. I wasn’t alone in the restaurant, but I was alone. I was the only black person in the restaurant. And in the 90’s, that felt very uncomfortable.

Now I tend to enjoy it at this age. I was having dinner with my agents, celebrating a deal that they told me was lucrative, but I later learned fucking sucked. And suddenly, a group of women walked by. Every race was in that group. Black, white, Asian, Latina, white, white… and white again. They were all gorgeous. I watched them walk by. Then I saw a familiar face.

Al Cowlings, the man from the infamous Bronco chase, walked by and embraced one of the women, and they walked towards the door. Couldn’t believe what I saw. And then, close behind him, was OJ Simpson, newly released from jail. The restaurant fell still. I was shocked. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it just came out.

“OJ!”

He stopped, turned around to see who said it, saw my black face and correctly assumed it was me. I was sitting in the corner of the booth. He leaned over all the white people I was having dinner with and shook my hand. “How are you, young man?” He looked in my eyes, and I could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember meeting me the first time. And then he walked away.

And I looked back at my agents, and all of them had nothing short of disgust on their faces. And the only one with the courage to voice their disgust was a woman named Sharon who used to represent me. “How could you?” she said. “How could you shake hands with that murderer?”

I said, “Sharon, with all due respect, that murderer ran for over 11,000 yards. And he was acquitted. So, you know, fuck it. The glove didn’t fit. The glove didn’t fit. Get over yourself.”

Some people can’t do that.