Samantha and I got married at my father-in-law’s country club. Not our scene, but our friends and families had a great time. Until suddenly, someone (with their own mic?!) piped up from the back of the room, which I figured was a prank from my groomsmen. But no, it was Bill Murray, Peter Venkman himself, in a bucket hat and a vest full of fishing lures, singing “Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl)!” It was just like all the stories I’ve read on theCHIVE, it was completely bizarre, yet incredibly charming!
After the song, he delivered a moving speech about how we should travel the world together and handed us two tickets to opening day at Wrigley Field and an Uzi gifted to him by Hunter S. Thompson. The tickets were an amazing surprise, but a submachine gun was baffling. I don’t know how we would even get it home, and I don’t think they’re legal in our state.
He hopped onstage to play tambourine, which after a few songs was visibly wearing on the band, and we were all ready to eat. Then he went behind the bar and served drinks, but no matter the order, just gave everyone tequila. It was hilarious but getting a little out of hand!
With literally anyone else it would be obnoxious, but this was great! We all just went on as planned, with Bill Murray as bartender. We had gotten a story to tell for the rest of our lives, but it was supposed to be our day, can you get back to stealing random people’s fries?
We had our first dance, until Bill Murray asked to cut in. Samantha is a fantastic sport, but she was more familiar with his Wes Anderson era, so it was less of a thrill for her. I could tell the whole experience was starting to get old for her.
When he loaded the Uzi and started making demands, it seemed like a joke or a movie reference I didn’t get. But it got serious when he fired a shot in the air and said, “No calling the police. I see one cop, I kill three of you. I see two cops, six people die!”
He threw my dad a garbage bag and had everyone throw in their phones and wallets. He allowed the caterers and photographer to leave with a list of demands: a starring role in “A Confederacy Of Dunces” with Alfonso Cuaron as director, a standing 9:45 am tee-time at Augusta National for him and his brothers, and the skull of Del Close. Then he started busing tables.
We were scared and confused, he was threatening our lives, even if it was in a goofy way. Someone must have called the cops because the building was surrounded. He didn’t make good on his earlier threats, but when the negotiator started trying to communicate via bullhorn, Murray was nowhere to be found. We weren’t sure if this was some sort of trap, but it was silent, he was gone.
Ten minutes later, he appeared outside, wearing dish-washing gloves and drying a plate. We couldn’t hear what was being said, but all the cops seemed like they were yukking it up with him, before he recited a solemn poem. After a round of selfies, he got into a patrol car and did doughnuts on the course while firing off a shotgun.
We figured we were out of harm’s way, but too worked up to go back to celebrating, so we called it a night, only to find out he took everything from our gift table and left us with a signed DVD of “Operation Dumbo Drop.”
We learned later that after charming the cops, he came back, this time with the GZA to help the band load out.