We – well, Todd – had a poker party Saturday night and as
the guys arrived I was greeted by 3 of his very good friends with a smile and a
hug. The next two to arrive were colleagues I hadn’t met previously, followed
by another I hadn’t met either. Three new names and faces for me to remember. The
first guy was easy, since he made a point to say hello to Ava and then he said,
is that a pump? I have one too. And
he whips his insulin pump out of his pocket. We pumpers have to stick together. And he fist-bumped her. How cool
is THAT??
I prepared the food like a good little housewife, and fixed
myself a cocktail whilst I worked. Three margaritas later – don’t judge, it was
Saturday night after all – when someone asked me how I made the 9-layer dip, I said
it wasn’t me but was brought by, uh… and found myself stuttering uh, um, it was…uh… as my mind went
through the list of names I’d committed to memory. Really – three – that’s all I had to remember.
And I did: Fred, Dan, and Jason. The
problem was – which one was the dip man? I covered my mental slip and just
said, OMG it’s soooo good! Have some
more! And quickly directed my attention to someone else on the other side
of the room as if they were speaking to me. What
was that?
A couple of hours later, we had two late-entries knocking at
the front door. The first guy I’d met once before when he came over to work
with Todd on his website, the second was a friend of his. He said hello and his
friend stepped inside behind him – we said hello and he quickly introduced
himself (and for the love of God I forgot his name the minute he said it) and I
said, nice to meet you – I’m Tara.
Because I just knew the first guy probably didn’t remember Todd’s wife’s name,
and I wanted to spare him the embarrassment. Because I know exactly how that
feels.
I’ve never really been good with names. I will never forget
a face, but names – why are they so important anyway? After working in the
restaurant business for over 30 years, I’ve known literally hundreds of
regulars and semi-regulars. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to
remember names of people who come in maybe three times a year? But they almost
always remember my name. Customers. Probably because their access to alcohol
depends on it. I do, after all, hold the shaker glass. But it is
oh-so-embarrassing when those familiar faces come in and you can’t remember
their name. Recently, I asked my mom what this woman’s name was and even she drew a blank! Come on woman – get
with it – you see her more than I do.
I think it’s a symptom of aging. Even though I’ve never been
good with names, it seems I’ve gotten ten times worse, if that’s even possible.
A couple of weeks ago someone I’ve known for nearly 25 years both from my
business AND hers, came in and I found myself staring at the floor dry-mouthed
because I couldn’t remember her name. HTF does that happen?
So, as karma has its way with us all, I’ve noticed people
not remembering my name either. You can see it in their eyes, the rolodex of
names flipping rapidly with no evidence of a hit. I know Todd spent a great
deal of time talking about me and us when we first got back together with the
many people in his universe, but damned if any of them remember my name each
time we meet. I don’t blame them. But you know
it’s bad when one of his best friends – from
high school – when we were together the
first time – goes to introduce me to his in-laws and he stammers because he
can’t remember my name! I actually stared at him and said, you are kidding, right? And he so wasn’t. And I quickly felt
ashamed, since this was at his dad’s funeral and of course he’s got to be out
of his head.
Anyway, all of this got me to thinking…When are you no
longer significant enough, young enough, or hot enough, for others to remember
your name? I guess the experience of being an only child for all of my
childhood predisposed me to a sort of self-importance – and that how could
someone not remember my name?
Not that this never happened in my youth. Hell, my dad’s
neighbor not only forgot my name when I was ten, but apparently also forgot I
was a girl. 25 years ago we had a
longtime customer who decided to call me Amber because he liked that name
better. When he’d call it a night, he’d say goodnight
Amber! Forever Amber! Which someone once said was a reference to a porn –
but I never confirmed that. Anyway, it was so bad that other customers started calling me Amber too. Imagine the confusion
that followed that.
I once read that the trick to remembering names is to make
eye contact at introduction and repeat their name back to them. Supposed to
commit the name to memory. I won’t say this never worked for me, but now that I’m
technically over the hill – and, in the case of Saturday night, three sheets to
the wind – aint nothing committing to memory but the location of the nearest
bathroom. I’m banking on remembering Todd’s name, since I never forgot it to
begin with. Hopefully, it’s the same for him. And if not – we can be new
lovers. Every day.
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