In a few hours, I’m hosting a conversation with Randall Munroe, the creator of xkcd, author of the awesome book What If? (I hear the audio version is pretty great), and a really great guy who I am privileged to call my friend.
Of course, the first time I met Randy, it didn’t go very well for me, which is the subject of this post From The Vault, In Which I Fail A Vital Saving Throw – originally published in August, 2008.
It was the end of the day, and my blood sugar was dangerously low. Colors and sounds were louder than they should have been. My feet and legs had been replaced by two dull, throbbing stumps that barely supported the weight of my body.
Most of the day, I’d been signing autographs for and talking with countless excited fans. Some of them shook my hand too hard and too long with a sweaty grip that trembled a little too much. Some of them stared at me uncomfortably. Some of them rambled incoherently. All of them were genuinely friendly, though.
I took it all in stride, because I’ve done this convention thing for — my god — two decades, and even though I don’t think I’m anything worth getting excited about, I know that it happens sometimes, and I know how people occasionally react. I never laugh at them or make them feel lame. I never make jokes at their expense. I am understanding and grateful that they want to talk to me at all. I wouldn’t want to talk to me if I was trapped with me in an elevator, and I certainly wouldn’t be excited about the prospect if faced with the option. I am always grateful, and take nothing for granted.
A voice boomed over my head, blasting right through my eardrums and exploding inside my skull. The convention floor was closing, it announced, and it was time for all of us to get the fuck out.
Red-jacketed security guards emerged from shadows I hadn’t noticed during the day. A handful at first, then a dozen, like zombies pouring through a breach in a barricade. They shambled forward relentlessly, single-mindedly driving a mass of exhibitors and straggling fans toward the doors.
I picked up my backpack, inexplicably heavier than it was before I emptied pounds of books from it earlier in the day, and heaved it onto my shoulders. My back screamed.
“You have to vacate the hall,” a girl said to me. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen, but clearly wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone, especially someone in my weakened state.
“I’m on my way,” I said. I turned to say goodbye to my boothmates, and saw the unmistakable visage of Jeph Jacques walk past behind them.
I’ve done this convention thing for a long time, so I knew that it was unlikely that I’d have a chance to say more than three words to Jeph before the convention was over. If I didn’t seize the moment, I probably wouldn’t get another chance. I smiled at the girl, faked to my right, and spun to my left around her. I nearly fell over from the effort.
“Hey . . .” she began. I took two quick steps away from her with my last bits of strength.
“Jeph!” I called out. He kept walking. He’s done this convention thing before, and, like me, knows that when someone calls out your name at the end of the day it’s best to pretend you didn’t hear them so you can just get the hell out of the hall and to a place where you can recover your hit points. This place is usually called a bar.
“Jeph! It’s Wil Wheaton!” I called out. I don’t know Jeph well enough to call him a friend, but we’ve talked at shows before, and I’ve always enjoyed our limited interactions. Maybe if he knew it was me, and not some random person, he’d stop so I could say hello. Maybe he wouldn’t want to talk to me if we were trapped in an elevator, but I knew the security guards were closing in, and if I could get into his Circle of Protection: Exhibitor, maybe I could stay there for a couple of minutes.
He stopped and turned around. He smiled wearily, and said hello. We shook hands, and I noticed that he’d been walking with someone.
“Hey, have you ever met Randall?” He said.
His companion turned to me and extended his hand. My brain screamed at me, “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THAT’S RANDALL MUNROE! BE COOL!”
Before I knew what was happening, my hand shot out from my body and grabbed his. I incoherently babbled something about how much I love his work. He tried to say something, but I just. kept. talking.
My brain screamed at me, “SHUT UP! YOU’RE MAKING A FOOL OF YOURSELF YOU ASSHOLE!”
My mouth, however, was out of my control. I continued to ramble, vomiting a turgid cascade of genuinely-excited praise and gratitude all over him.
A full minute later, I realized, to my abject horror, that my hand was still shaking his. I held it too hard in a sweaty, trembling hand. Darkness flashed at the edges of my vision, and I felt weak. I pulled my hand back, a little too quickly, mumbled an apology, and shut my mouth.
They said things to me, but I couldn’t hear them over my own brain screaming at me, “GET OUT OF THERE YOU COCKASS. YOU HAD ONE CHANCE TO MEET RANDALL MUNROE AND YOU BLEW IT! I HATE YOU! YOU GO TO HELL NOW! YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE!”
A hand fell on my shoulder. I turned toward it, and saw the security girl.
“Sir, you need to leave the hall.” She said. “Now.” She had backup: a pair of similarly-aged teens, two boys working on their first mustaches. They fixed me with a steely-eyed gazes.
I have never been so relieved to be kicked out of anyplace in the world as I was then.
“I guess I better go,” I said. I took a short breath, and lamely added, “it’s really nice to meet you. I really do love your work.”
My brain did the slow clap.
His reply did not penetrate the wall of shame I’d constructed around myself, though I clearly recall that he didn’t make fun of me, or make me feel stupid, or let on that I was a sweaty, shaking, raving lunatic. He didn’t appear to be grateful that we weren’t trapped in an elevator, though I suspect he must have been. As I fled the hall, I was grateful for his kindness, patience, and understanding.
Once outside, I went to a place where I could forget my appalling embarrassment.
That place was called a bar.
Wonderful post! Hilarious!
Haha I agree!
I was a concert promoter in Houston from 1987 to 1995. I don’t know how many times I bore witness to similar interactions between celebrities and fans. Your recounting of the experience though hilarious when looking back, was in real time not so funny I assume. It is nice to see a celebrity who has the ability not to take themselves seriously. The ability to poke fun at oneself tells me you have both feet on the floor. My admiration grows with every post you release. Keep being yourself! Thanks!
Somehow I think my brain had a similar conversation with my mouth when I met you.
I was about to type that you made too big of a deal out of your reaction to people you admire, until I realized that I don’t really know what I’m talking about. You’ve been on the inside of the “person people feel like they know but don’t and who they’re really excited to meet” bubble, and I have not. But hey, at least you’ve gotten subsequent opportunities to recover and present yourself as something other than a trembling puddle of fanboy.
I want to go to a bar myself, every time I think of the way I responded to you about 15 years ago. You used to use a product of mine, and when I emailed you I ended up stupidly fanboying over you in a way that, even to my dorky immature self, could clearly tell made you uncomfortable… and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. (I know it’s no excuse, but I’m mentally ill and have had lifelong problems talking to anyone — I’ve gone for several years without even leaving my home — but already “knowing” someone gives one’s brain more fuel to fuck things up with than it does with strangers, maybe?) For what it’s worth, I’ve felt ashamed of having been, well, a dick to you for all these years… and I hope you can forgive me for this very belated and anonymous apology.
You’ve described perfectly how most of us non-famous people inevitably react when encountering fame, and it is very endearing to see that even those with fame can (and do) react that way as well. The question is, can you give an example of someone successfully coming off as chill but not cold, confident but not cocky, friendly but not overbearing, humble but not self-deprecating, etc. when meeting you?
I’d like to think that I’d be chill if I met you, but I imagine that the only way to pull that off would be a simple chin-up gesture accompanied by a “Sup?”, which doesn’t really give either of us a story now, does it?
Needless to say, I’m a big fan. Keep doing what you do.
I wish I could say that nothing like that has ever happened to me. But I can’t. And though it hasn’t happened, I can pretty much guarantee the same thing would happen to me (right down to the sweaty palms and the internal voice jumping up and down screaming at my stupid self) if I ever get to meet you. I feel your pain, Wil. Thanks for sharing that.
………. yeah, I can totally relate to that “OHMYGOD shut the FUCK UP!” thought screaming through your head. You see, this one time I met a guy who is kind of a big deal (nudge nudge) and that’s totally what I did! Total word vomit came spewing out in this awkward babbling nonsense somewhat related to every single thing I had ever wanted to say to that person. Thankfully this guy responded in such a way that, even though I could tell he was tired (it was a very long day for him) he seemed to “get it”.
Hope you have a great day! Look forward to your next Tabletop season!
Such a talented writer you are, Mr. W.
My hands are doing the fast clap, nailed it!
At least you didn’t pee a little.
Not that I know anyone who ever did that.
Certainly not me.
Haha, U be funny…
Love from Sweden!
Great empathetic description of what those encounters feel like – though I’m not able to picture a “turgid cascade,” which is probably for the better.
Speaking of cascades – nice segue, I see that you’ll be in Portland this weekend at the Rose City Comic Con. Is it appropriate to bring a beer aficionado like yourself a local ale? Or will I be escorted out of the convention center much like you were?
Well written for sure. I went to my first Comic Con last year in Niagara Falls and I felt sorry for the celebrities there. Having to stand up for pictures then sit down always with a smile and then to do it again and again all day.. I am glad that you wrote what you did it really spoke to what i saw at the ComicCon last year
Off topic but I had to tell you: I just signed up to join a knitting competition called Nerdopolis in which I had to check a box saying “I agree to abide by Wheaton’s law. I understand that violations of Wheaton’s Law may jeopardize my status as a participant in Nerdopolis.” Fucking Awesome!
Thanks Wil, that was one fun post. Glad to see that this can also happen to people that, through experience, should know better.
Thanks to an O’Reilly Senior Editor that wanted to know my opinion on the 3dPrinting Book market, i now have your Book ‘Just a Geek’ (plus the Manual for Dwarf Fortress) – sorry – fanboyed ….
I’ve been in the almost exact same position (SHUT UP BRAIN) when i’ve met the graffiti artist Loomit last year. I srsly did the ‘We’re unworthy’ thing from Waynes world. Luckily he’s, like you, not the kind of guy that would laugh over someone and we are friends now. I fix his PC – he makes me Logos and we do enjoy talking to each other 😉
Another way to fail this throw would be to freeze up… nothing like a missed opportunity. It seems the best that I ever get out is “Thank you for doing such a great job. I really enjoy the show.”. Boring and completely forgettable.
Yeah, I remember having a fan-ic attack along those same lines meeting a creator whom I deeply admired a few years back.
You were really nice about it, despite how glib I got all of a sudden.
I become a total mess if I so much as meet the manager of a Papa John’s. It happens.