Nicole told me this story. Apparently, back in the very early 80s, there was an MLA (that's the Modern Language Association--the high muckety-mucks of the academic English business in the US) conference in San Francisco that Michel Foucault was invited to.
Well, he showed up with a young boy-toy he'd picked up earlier. And he'd lost his conference badge, so the security guards wouldn't let him in. And so he was pounding on the front doors of the hotel yelling (in heavy French accent) "Let me in, you fuckairs! I am Michel Foucault!!"
I have no idea how true this story is, but it amused me greatly.