A couple of days ago, I had to meet my Grammy award-winning filmmaker friend (who I will call "Ernesto") at the photography emporium that is the B&H Photo Video store. I could not, however, find Ernesto at B & H once I arrived. I decided to page him. Yes, on the PA system. I knew he would displeased if his name were announced for the world to hear (particularly in a photo video store full of Orthodox Jews for employees, and photojournalist shoppers). I had him paged anyway. I chuckled at how the Orthodox Jewish employee made "Ernesto" sound Yiddish on the P.A. system. Then Ernesto appeared. WHY DID YOU DO THAT? DON'T HAVE MY NAME ANNOUNCED LIKE THAT. NOW THERE IS A WOMAN STALKING ME. You should be so lucky, I countered.
We decided that his code-name for future paging emergencies would be "Eeyore."
The following night, I had dinner with Arty, who I've mentioned here before, and whose art work you, dear reader, recognize as the logo on Ramones t-shirts. We decided to try something Moroccan but we wound up eating Turkish food. We did a lot of walking. We walked to Alpana Bawa, we walked to Trader Joe's, we walked to Blockbuster Video and we walked some more. Which was when we ran into Big Time Filmmaker Who Won That Award in the South of France last year. Whose movie, as it happened, was next to be mailed from my queue on Netflix.
Hey, I said, That's Big Time Filmmaker and his wife Sarah.
"Yes, it is," said Arty. Then he promptly proceeded to jaywalk across the street. I had no choice but to follow.
Why did you do that? I asked. I wanted to say "hi" and thank Sarah for all her help...
"I don't know Big Time Filmmaker so well."
Ah. I see. Would an introduction have hurt?
...
Ah, I see. You didn't want to appear uncool and look like a stalker?
And there was my two-day lesson in not being recognized and avoiding meeting people who would clearly know who you are, because it is not the New Yorkish thing to do.
2 comments:
My brother sat behind Chris Rock during the Marlins' World Series Miami games and had him sign a baseball that my brother had caught, causing Chris to comment that nobody had ever asked him to autograph a baseball before.
Back in NY, for the next two years my brother rode up in the elevator almost daily with Chris on their ways to work but never mentioned the memorable World Series baseball connection because he was afraid he'd be taken for a stalker.
And the one time I tried to have Jorge paged at the airport as we nearly missed a flight because he was shopping for new shirts at the Gap and souvenirs for the girls, I asked for "Jorge Getchouras to the gate, please." It sounded a little Greek.
When I was working in film, people were always asking me why I didn't get autographs. I was like, "Are you kidding? I *work* with these people! I can't go around asking for autographs and photos!" For some reason, though, a lot of people didn't understand that.
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