They say the one good thing about Alzheimer’s is all the new people you get to meet.
As I’m standing on the platform, waiting for the C-train, a cute boy walking by. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. Before I can figure it out, he stops and looks at me.
“Ethan?”
“Hey, how are you man?”
“I’m good and you?”
“Can’t complain, life is good.”
We chat for ten minutes. He knows everything about me, my name, what I do for a living, where I’m from. This is no stranger. Yet somehow I’ve managed to completely erase this person from my memory. This has happened before. I'm bad with names and faces. So, I do what I always do. I fake it.
By now I have it down to a science. Bombard them with the most generic questions possible and hope that at some point they’ll blink, divulge that once piece of information that solves the puzzle.
“So how’s work?” I ask. A safe bet. Most people (at least in Manhattan) are employed otherwise they can’t pay rent and thus are forced to move.
“How’s life treating you?” I go on.
“Going home for the holidays?” Can’t go wrong with that one. No one's actually from here.
But for some reason it’s not working this time. I go through all my boring, non-committal inquiries before I resort to the one question I hate the most. But at this point I have no choice, I’m about to get busted.
“So what’s new?” I ask, trying not to vomit over my own words.
“Evan and I just bought a house, it’s been crazy but we’re happy.”
Thank God. Okay, boyfriend named Evan. Come on, who do I know named Evan? For fuck’s sake! Nothing. Not a clue. How can this be? I try concentrating without being too obvious. I shuffle through all the Evans I know. No ring, no bells.
At this point I give up. I make a mental note to schedule an appointment with my doctor, not that I’ll remember that either. Flashes of a bleak future come to mind, images of an old, wrinkled man running around the house in his underwear, peeing in the sink, trying to figure out why the goddamn toilet won’t flush.
The boy in front of me keeps talking, I nod, pretend to listen, but all I can think of is, “Who the fuck is Evan?”
Finally, Penn Station.
“So nice bumping into you.” He says as he steps off the train.
“Likewise. Oh, and give a big kiss to Evan for me.” Whoever that is.
Funny, Funny, Funny ... Happens to me all the time... and you know it's bad when a guy comes up to you and you have no idea who the Fuck he is and then over the course of the conversation you realize you've had sex with him on film at some point but still have no clue who the hell he is.
Posted by: Chad Hunt | December 07, 2005 at 03:17 AM
uhm, i too am always faking my "sincerity," but usually over the telephone when my clients call for appointments; trust me, its even harder!! try remembering a person by just their first names and the sound of their voices...and even when they show up, its usually just "how are your wife and kids" or "where are you and the family vacationing this winter/summer" that are a part of my questionaire to make me look like i remember something about each one of them...then it usually hits me when they start asking for "special requests" that i have indeed seen them before, and that i should not have committed to seeing them again...
but over time, i found that it helps to create an "alias" when i advertise so that i can tell my regular clients my REAL name... that way when they call again using it, i can narrow down my list when i am trying to remember who they are... perhaps you and mr chad should consider trying that too: using a name other than your own ?
ps- i dont think you should worry about your early signs of 'alziemers' cause you know you will always have your beautifuly written blog to remind yourself of your past !!!
Posted by: clark | December 07, 2005 at 05:47 AM
must be my lucky day,.. I think I remember you two. Chad and Clark, welcome back.
Posted by: ethan | December 07, 2005 at 08:16 AM
Ahhhh..there's Chad again! Oh, and that happens to me ALL the time! I always forget people's names...Maybe he was a reader of your blog? Wait, he would have mentioned that if that was the case...hmmmmmm...But you never show your face, so that is out the window....Good luck figuring it out!
Posted by: Roy | December 07, 2005 at 10:53 AM
You bitch!
Posted by: Evan | December 07, 2005 at 02:47 PM
Me, a bitch???? Awwwwww.....Well, I was only saying that since you don't show your face on the blog, it would be impossible for a reader to even know if it was you if they saw you on the street...I get recognized from time to time, but it's cause I always have pics of my ugly mug all over the place!
Posted by: Roy | December 07, 2005 at 03:53 PM
Roy, no worries, the "bitch" part was meant for me. The name, Evan. Clever. Funny.
Posted by: Ethan | December 07, 2005 at 10:42 PM
Too funny... But it's even worse when you part and then it hits you... and you realize, "Wait... his brother is frickin' HOT... I should've asked for his number!!"
Just theorhetically speaking, of course... they never happened to me. Never. Nope.
Posted by: Mr. Secret | December 14, 2005 at 08:39 PM
One word: hilarious!
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