The world's wealthiest woman and I once had a "thing." True, she did not seem particularly aware of this fact, but let us not split hairs.
My office was once five feet from Melinda Gates'. In the manner of eating, drinking, peeing human beings in close proximity, we crossed paths several times a day. It didn't take me long to notice that normal polite acknowledgements of another human being's existence were not in her social arsenal. When we passed, there was no eye contact, no courtesy nod, no recognition. I was a passing air molecule to her, except not useful.
My peers reported similar non-treatment. Melinda acknowledged no one. In fact, women sitting in a bathroom stall could tell when Melinda entered the room, because a "cone of silence" immediately enveloped everyone.
Being a dork who didn't particularly value his job, I took it upon myself to force her to acknowledge my existence. I cheerfully said "good morning," which went unreturned. I sneezed. No "bless you." I startled her with loud noises. I did pratfalls. One time I held open a door for her, and she stood there, staring at her feet, refusing to go through. I'd say that the harder I tried, the harder she resisted, but the cold truth is that I doubt she could have picked me out of a lineup.
I left that job in abject failure, and soon Melinda left the company altogether. I figured that was the end of the story.
Six months into my new job, I returned to my old office to visit friends. As I whirled and left, I clobbered Melinda, who, visiting someone herself, had not seen me coming. In that staggering second, as I helped her regain her footing, a miracle happened: she made eye contact. True, it wasn't exactly warm, but I'll take it.
"Didn't you see me?" I chided.
She averted her eyes and drifted away.