My family and I are rednecks.
That is what the two guys trying to sell us a tour of homes to the stars called us after we declined their money-back guaranteed offer.
There were probably at least as many people trying to sell us maps and tours of the stars' homes as there were stars' homes.
On our family vacation last week to the greater Los Angeles area to visit my brother, we ventured to Hollywood Boulevard to take in the sights.
Those sights included two men standing nose to nose cussing at each other over who had the rights to that particular piece of real estate on the boulevard.
You could not take 20 steps without seeing someone hawk these maps and/or tours of the homes of celebrities.
They were not bashful salesmen.
There is no way of knowing if these homes actually are owned by celebrities. It is not like they are on their front lawn smiling and waving or taking their trash out.
These homes could just be houses owned by the rich and not-so famous.
It wasn't that I was surprised people earn a living in this manner. There are several careers spawned by people who track celebrities. There is the paparazzi, magazines, gossip shows and lower down on the food chain are those who want to give the star-struck a tour of a movie star's home or a map on how to get to it.
But I was not prepared for how many of these people exist in a few square blocks.
No wonder they are in your face as you walk down the street on your way to Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, or dodge Storm Troopers or watch Superman and Wonder Woman (purse in hand) hold a brief summit on crime.
But there would not be so many of these sales representatives on the street if business were not brisk.
There must be a large calling for people who have a desire to see where Zsa Zsa Gabor lives or what kind of a house Tom Cruise owns.
I have never cared too much about how the wealthy live. They all have big homes and try to outdo each other.
I never understood why someone needs a home with eight bathrooms and a walk-in closet bigger than homes some people live in.
So taking a tour of homes that may or may not be owned by celebrities was of little interest.
But I could not help but laugh at the men who called us rednecks, pointing out what we were wearing, which was standard stock for 90-degree weather.
I watched the two walk down the street while we waited to cross the street.
"They're rednecks," one told the other. "Look at how they're dressed."
He kept repeating it and pointing at us as he ambled down the street looking for the next redneck to harass.
The other offered to give us our money back if we weren't satisfied, but I'm betting he would have been satisfied to take our money, and I guarantee he could have shown us a garbage can and not returned the money.
Eventually we crossed the street and the salesmen went about their business, looking for the next target.
I love L.A.
Patrick Murphy, of Columbus, Neb., is the former assistant managing editor of The Telegram.