July 20, 2007 | My first exposure to fake news – Way before social media!

A classic from 2007. I was in Paris for a sports sponsorship event. 

A British friend had arranged for a group of us Texans to meet him and others working in our Paris office for drinks at a cool bar called FTSE. At “Footsie” the drink prices change according to demand and are then posted on a ticker like the London Stock Exchange.

At the bar probably 15 of us (most from Austin although I didn’t know anyone well) began arriving together but then fanning out through the venue to sit together in smaller groups.

My Brit buddy had brought with him a ruggedly handsome, fabulously overpaid, 40-ish Formula 1 photographer also from the UK. He looked like a young Richard Branson.

The New Pal spent the first part of our evening praising all things American: New York, Las Vegas, the movies, various US actors (Clooney, of course), etc. He enthused and espoused — all while wearing meticulously faded Levi’s, a stark white t-shirt and Ray-Bans perched atop his flowing mane.

My Pal was “dressed American” more than anyone there. 

After a few beers, however, the true colors came out: “Did you know,” he shared, “that the 9/11 attacks were an inside job?”

[Keep in mind, now: it’s July, 2007 – There is no iPhone yet. There are no apps — and really no social media to speak of. This is literally my first moment hearing about this idea… and it is my first time encountering the sort of incremental lunacy that appears daily now in our social media feeds.]

I listened politely. When My Pal had finished, I smiled and said, “That is the biggest bunch of bullshit I have ever heard!” – and then I excused myself to go sit at another of our gaggle’s discussions at a nearby table. 

Looking back, it was a bold move on my part. I chose this because I was enjoying the occasion and the venue and did not want the novelty of being in Paris interrupted by nuttiness.

Basically, I recused myself from this guy (and the only person in the place that I knew well), choosing instead to go sit with others whom I literally did not know.

…and met up with my Brit friend and My Pal again later, as we were all leaving the bar at closing time. 

My favorite moment was shaking My Pal’s hand at the end of the night – looking him right in the eye and saying, “It was really great meeting you.” 

I meant it.

Meanwhile, My Pal had that befuddled look about him – ‘Wait, why is this guy being so civilized / pleasant?’

The move had paid off, nobody freaked, and we headed out into the Parisian night.