I was accosted by a Storm Trooper last weekend. I’m not talking about the Germans with the pointy hats, but the guys in the white plastic uniforms from a certain, low profile film you may have heard of. And for those of you who are always on the lookout for sexual context, that’s “accosted,” not “molested.” The former involves being bothersome. The later involves an after-school special.

I think this is the second time this has happened; both in similar locations for similar reasons, but each incident over a year apart. This time, I was at the Granite State Comic Book Convention; a great place to meet single women.

I arrived in the morning, intending to meet my friend Jason inside. After walking among the vendors a bit, I still hadn’t spotted him, so I tried to reach him via cell phone. That’s when the Storm Trooper got all up in my grill. He was being funny, though for some reason he wasn’t speaking. He was giving me hand signals that I eventually interpreted as, “The Empire has imposed a 50% tax on all cell phone minutes.”

I tried to play along as best I could. As I waited for Jason to pick up, I waved the cell phone in his face and said, “This is not the droid you’re looking for.”

However, it suddenly occurred to me that Jason had a Storm Trooper outfit too. I looked at the solider and said, “Am I calling you? Jason?” The trooper remained still, and speechless. If it was Jason, he was laughing under that helmet. If it wasn’t, he was probably confused (“Why the hell is he calling me Jason?”).

Before Jason finally picked up, the Storm Trooper waved me off, dismissing me as a mental case (me, the one not dressed up like a fictional foot soldier).

I wasn’t annoyed by it. In fact, I can usually get some laughs by telling the story of trying to make a cell phone call while a Storm Trooper was giving me shit.