I was once mistaken for a celebrity. I was coming out of the back entrance at Jimmy Kimmel Live and the paparazzi began frantically snapping photos. I assured them I was no one worth photographing, but they were relentless. I hurried around the corner and ducked into a urine-soaked alley to quickly call the driver, let my boss know that Kimmel wouldn’t be running the clip we wanted (not a fun conversation) and dial into a radio show to sit on hold with the producer until the actual celebrity I was with had finished his appearance on Kimmel and could record an interview to air the next morning. Once on hold and safely on mute, I hurried back to the studio exit just in time to meet said celebrity, fend off the flashing cameras and pull him into the car that I had just summoned. Glamorous, right?