I recently had an awkward interaction that reminded of another awkward interaction

This is the very gracious Gregory L. King, President of the University of Mount Union. Or just "Greg" to those of us who are clueless and don't know who he is.

Last month I had the privilege of speaking to business students at the University of Mount Union about my career in corporate communications. I was one of several presenters representing a variety of business disciplines, and we spent the minutes before the start of the program mingling with students, faculty and each other.

At one point, a friendly guy walked up to me, looked at my name tag and said, "Hi Scott, Greg King." We shook hands and made small talk for a few minutes before I asked him what his role was at the school.

"I'm the president," he said very matter-of-factly.

Oh. The president of the university. And I had no idea who he was. Had I known his identity, I'm sure I would have called him "Mr. King" rather than "Greg." And I certainly would have been more deferential than I was.

He was clearly an unpretentious person, though, and dismissed my apology with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, I should have been wearing a name tag!" he laughed.

I have a knack for making these sorts of conversational gaffes, and I'm always grateful to be bailed out by others who – like me, I hope – will talk to anyone at any time about anything and don't take themselves at all seriously.

I was reliving the interaction on my drive home when another famous Scott mistake came to mind.

I think I've related here before how Terry and I have come to be friends with jazz saxophonist Dave Koz. Dave is one of the friendliest (and most talented) people you'll ever meet, and his annual Christmas shows are in the "must see" category for us when he comes to Cleveland.

One of the perks of knowing Dave is that his wonderful assistant, Janice, will unhesitatingly leave us two backstage passes so we can say hello to Dave and his band whenever they come to Playhouse Square.

During one of these post-show meet-and-greets several years ago, I made a point of seeking out Dave's longtime musical director and keyboardist Brian Simpson to tell him how much I enjoyed his musicianship and his arrangements of Dave's songs.

I saw him walking down a backstage corridor and called after him. Only I somehow misremembered his first name, and instead of calling "Brian!" I yelled, "Bill! Bill!"

He of course didn't turn around. Why would he? His name isn't Bill.

It took me a few minutes to realize this. I think I eventually tracked him down, but the damage had been done and I was pretty embarrassed.

This is Brian Simpson. "Brian," mind you, not "Bill."

As with Mr. King, I was reliving (and regretting) what had happened on the car ride home. Terry looked over at me at one point and saw I was making a sour face.

"Are you remembering when you called him Bill instead of Brian?" she asked me.

"Yes," I replied through gritted teeth.

Every once in a while, one of us will yell "Bill! Bill!" Usually for no reason at all.

It still makes me wince.

That time I mistakenly called a guy Bill...over and over

We all have things we've said or done in our lives that make us wince when we recall them.

And they're not even necessarily "bad" things, just embarrassing for one reason or another.

I have many of these things. One is the "Bill" incident.

Some background: Terry and I have, for many years, been fans of jazz saxophonist Dave Koz. It's a long story, but we have gotten to know Dave well and always avail ourselves of the two backstage passes he leaves for us every time he plays in Cleveland.

For many years, Dave's keyboardist and musical arranger has been a guy named Brian Simpson. Brian is very talented, and I always enjoy his arrangements of Dave's songs and how he holds the band together.

Some years ago after one of Dave's shows, we went backstage and I wanted to tell Brian how much I appreciate his work. I caught a glimpse of him as he was walking away and called after him.

Except, for some reason, I suddenly thought his name was Bill.

"BILL! BILL!" I yelled as he, inexplicably to me, just kept walking down the hallway, not turning around. "BILL!"

Very quietly, Terry leaned over to me and said, "I think his name is Brian."

It was, of course. And still is.

It was embarrassing. And Brian never did hear/see me that night.

As we were driving home, Terry looked over at me and saw a grimace on my face.

"Are you thinking about the fact that you called him Bill?" she asked.

"Yes," I said through clenched teeth.

A couple of years ago we again found ourselves backstage after a Dave Koz show, and this time I did get a chance to meet Brian. I even called him by his actual name. And I told him the story of the time I yelled "BILL!" when trying to track him down.

I now think the story is hilarious. Brian seemed a bit confused and honestly not especially amused by it.

No matter. Any time Terry and I encounter someone named Bill now, one of us will inevitably say, "BILL!"

No one else gets it, but we think it's hilarious.

That's marriage for you.