Ted Turner! He opens doors for young ladies.
September 23, 2008
So this morning I walk on to the lot, and this guy with a dapper little white mustache opens the door for me.
“Hey,” I think. “How polite of him! Also, that’s Ted Turner. Huh.”
And then I turn and chat to the guard.
And the guard goes: “Do you recognize Ted Turner?”
(Ted Turner and his people are standing ONE FOOT AWAY, mind you.)
I go blank for a moment. Here is the inside of my brain: Am I supposed to recognize Ted Turner? Does he want to be recognized? Is Ted Turner the kind of person who will be upset if I recognize him? Or upset if I DON’T? Do I have anything to say to Ted Turner that isn’t “Hey, remember when you owned CNN or whatever? That was pretty cool.”? No, I don’t. OH SHIT.
“…am I supposed to recognize Ted Turner?” I say. But I didn’t mean “I don’t recognize Ted Turner! What a stupid question! He’s OLD AND LAME, WHY WOULD I RECOGNIZE HIM, I DON’T RECOGNIZE ANYONE WHO ISN’T IN HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL!”, I meant “Um… hey guys, it’s 8:30 AM and I’m an entertainment assistant with an exaggerated startle reflex and I’m just trying to figure out what you WANT ME TO SAY SO I CAN SAY IT. SO GIVE ME SOME BODY LANGUAGE CLUES AND I WILL DO WHAT YOU WANT.”
“No pressure,” the blond lady with Mr. Turner laughs. Everyone stares at me expressionlessly. Ted Turner stares at me expressionlessly.
“…of course I recognize Ted Turner,” I say, panicking, hoping it’s The Right Answer. I look at Ted Turner.
He looks away. There is a horrible, awkward pause. I get the distinct feeling that everyone, Ted Turner, Ted’s people, the guard, feel really, really embarrassed for me.
I cringed, urged them all to have a good day, and ran away across the lawn, leaving them to have conversations like “That girl was pretty weird.” and “Seriously, who doesn’t recognize Ted Turner! Don’t worry, Ted. You’re totally famous.”
I think it’s safe to assume that if I ever need a huge chunk of venture capital I should probably not turn to TED.