Good-bye, Notowidigeo. Hello. Sastroamidjojo.
At the U.S. State Department, foreign names are almost as crucial as foreign policy. The social secretary to a former secretary of state recalls that even in the relatively unselfconscious 1950s, she put herself through a rigorous rehearsal of names before every affair of state. Of all the challenges, she says, the ambassador from what was then Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) was the toughest. After days of practicing "Ambassador Notowidigeo," she was informed that a new man had the job - and was on his way to be received. "You'd be surprised how fast you can memorize Sastroamidjojo when you have to," she adds.
The first transaction between even ordinary citizens - and the first chance to make an impression for better or worse - is, of course, an exchange of names. In America there usually is not very much to get wrong. And even if you do, so what?
Not so elsewhere. Especially in the Eastern Hemisphere, where name frequently denotes social rank or family status, a mistake can be an outright insult. So can switching to a given name without the other person's permission, even when you thing the situation calls for it.
"What would you like me to call you?" is always the opening line of one overseas deputy director for an international telecommunications corporation. "Better to ask several times," he advises, "than to get it wrong." Even then, "I err on the side of formality until asked to 'Call me Joe'. Another frequent traveler insists his country by country, surnames underlined, to be memorized on the flight over.
Doing your homework and practicing people's names can save you embarrassment.
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