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My flight got into Omaha two hours before my appointment. I wanted to be on time for lunch.When I told the cab driver the address, he looked confused. I assumed that every taxi driver in Omaha would know the location of Mr. Buffett’s office, but I was wrong. He asked another cab driver for directions, and we were on our way. It was a short ride.

The taxi dropped me off at an unremarkable buff-colored office building. I opened the door and entered what appeared to be a hallway instead of a lobby. A lone security guard sat at a small desk. He seemed to be expecting me, telling me to go right on up to the 14th floor. An elevator was already on the ground floor, and there was no one else in the lobby. I rode up alone.

The elevator doors opened to a vacant hallway. As I stepped off the elevator, I was startled to hear a friendly female voice say: “Janet, make a right and then another right, and go straight ahead.” I quickly looked around. There was no one there, and I didn’t see a camera or a speaker. I did a quick mental review of my actions since entering the building and was relieved I hadn’t adjusted my skirt on the elevator. The voice repeated the instructions, and this time I followed them.

One of Warren Buffett’s assistants sat to the right of the small reception area. There was no one else there. I told her I had arrived early, but I planned to read Paul Erdman’s book Tug of War about the global currency crisis in the mid-1990s. She offered me beverages, and I accepted a glass of water. I had barely taken a sip, when Warren Buffett appeared. He gave me a quick look and said energetically:“Oh, Janet’s here. Show her right in.”

Warren Buffett was taller and trimmer than I expected. He later told me he works out with a trainer three times per week. His famous eyebrows were trimmed—unlike an old Internet photo—and his skin glowed as if freshly scrubbed. He wore a light gray suit and looked as if he dressed for comfort and appropriateness rather than to impress.

He invited me to sit on a sofa while he took a neighboring chair. Plump beads of sweat rolled down my water glass, and I looked around his coffee table in consternation for a coaster or an ash tray. I didn’t want to be known as the person who left a blistering water ring on the smooth surface. Oh that? A calling card from Janet Tavakoli. Noticing my hesitation, Warren retrieved the Wall Street Journal from his desk. He set it down, and said I could put my glass on his paper. I looked down at the paper knowing I was about to make a mess of it. It looked so smooth.Warren Buffett had worked as a paper boy for the Buffalo News and identified the Washington Post as one of the great bargains of the twentieth century for Berkshire Hathaway’s investors. Warren’s love of newspapers is well known, and for more than half a century he has been a loyal reader of the Wall Street Journal. My heart sank at the thought of making a mess of his paper. Had he finished reading it? I looked up, and to my complete surprise, Warren Buffett appeared nervous. He wouldn’t feel comfortable until I accepted his offer of hospitality; he couldn’t relax until I relaxed. I rested my glass and sat down, smiling inwardly.

Then I blundered. In an awkward attempt to lighten the moment, I said:“Some days that is all the Wall Street Journal is good for.”

His head snapped around and he gave me a sharp look. A few seconds passed.“I agree,” he finally said.

But I knew he didn’t mean his comment, and I hadn’t meant mine. What’s more, he knew I didn’t mean it, and I suspected he knew that I knew he didn’t mean his. Judith Martin, the Washington Post’s etiquette columnist, maintains etiquette has been given a bad name by strangers using fake familiarity to make demands on our time, our privacy, and our resources. Genuine etiquette is a useful social tool designed to make others comfortable without sacrificing one’s own rights. Months later, Warren wrote me that he didn’t think he had “studied her advice sufficiently,” but I thought he graduated summa cum