If You Ask Me - Betty White [26]
There are too many examples in real life to mention—that awkward moment when I just don’t know someone’s name happens all the time!
People approach you out of context—people you’ve not seen in years. Or they approach in groups. Or they’ve aged or changed their hair color or put on weight—making recognition even more difficult. I still will introduce myself in these situations—“Hi, I’m Betty White”—in the hopes they’ll do the same. Invariably, they not only don’t reciprocate, they look at me as if I’m out of my mind.
The 2011 SAG Awards was a classic example. There I was, in a room filled with actors from popular movies and shows all across television. They’re celebrities. And I don’t know who they are! You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff the entire night.
And in this industry, our business makes for an instant familiarity. All night, people approached me and said, “Oh, hello, Betty—I loved you in Saturday Night Live” or “Hot in Cleveland is great,” and so on. And I don’t know the person from Adam—though I most probably should.
You can’t cover all the bases, but you wish you could cover a few.
The worst part is, a lot of people don’t take kindly to your not remembering. But you’re fighting as hard as you can. You’ve used up all of the clichéd ways of avoiding the situation, but you still can’t grasp the name in question.
One time I tried what I thought was a great way to learn that elusive moniker. I asked, “How do you spell your last name?”
The answer came back, “With an i.”
Great.
Whatever memory trick you employ, it is well worth the effort. People are often surprised and pleased when you call them by name—especially in a crowd.
One more complication is added for me as my hearing dims: I may not hear the name clearly in the initial introduction, and the only thing worse than forgetting a name is calling someone by the wrong one.
You are probably thinking that if I let a big party be all that work, why don’t I just stay home? Great idea! And I usually do.
The operative word here is “big.” I thoroughly enjoy a small group of friends—six, or maybe even eight. You can get into stimulating conversation, laugh together, disagree on occasion, and, if you’re not careful, even learn something.
And you don’t have to bother with all those name games.
See—I’m not quite as antisocial as I sound. Not quite.
With George Burns—a face and a name you could never forget.
BOB NOBLE/GLOBE PHOTOS
DINING ROOM TABLE
My desk, and what was originally intended to be my office, is located in a spare bedroom upstairs. The fax machine lives there, as well as my stuffed animals and piles and piles of books people send me in the hopes I’ll take a look at them for endorsement or out of curiosity or for pleasure. I’m too busy to read much of anything lately, but it’s against my religion to throw out a book, so they keep stacking up and stacking up. It’s gotten to the point that whenever Donna needs to fax something, I find myself saying, “No, no, let me do that!” so she doesn’t have to see the messy room.
As that room filled up, I found that I kept bringing my work downstairs to the dining room table at the end of the living room. It sits by a big window looking out to the garden, and Donna and I find it a most pleasant workplace. Unfortunately, the table keeps getting piled higher and higher with leftover works in progress that have become virtually permanent. The dining room table has become an echo of the upstairs spare bedroom!
At four a.m., which seems to be my witching hour, I wake up not in a panic about memorizing my lines or what the day on the set might bring. No, I wake up haunted by that mess in that office—and the growing mess on my dining room table!
I think to myself, Betty, you must clean this mess before you die. God forbid someone else has to rifle through what’s piled on there. I fantasize about bringing in giant garbage bags and just tossing everything out—but I can’t bring myself to do it.
What about