My generic looks

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” or “Have we met before?” These two questions are often tossed my way in the catch and throw game of introductions. People all over, for as long as I can remember, at least since my high school years, feel that they know me. They are just sure they know me, and if I just give them a minute they will figure it out. Did I date someone from Carmel High School? Am I related to Bud Johnson? Weren’t you at Susan’s wine and cheese fund raiser last month? No, no, and no.

The last example comes from a tall gentleman with classic distinguished grey hair, who literally ran up to me at the local library a couple of months ago. “Hey there!” He bellowed, transparently delighted to see me/person he thinks is me.

I said Hi back in that friendly noncommittal way, not wanting to embarrass him, just waiting for him to realize I am not who he hopes I am. “Oh,” he says, his face falls just a hair, “Aren’t you Mary from Susan’s house?” I tell him no and his face flushes red. Who is this Mary I think? And what kind of great conversation did they get going at that little event? He goes on to explain that not many people wear the type of hat I had on that day, a red suede newsboy cap, and don’t I sure look a lot like Mary. I reassured him that this happens all the time; people always think they know me. Then he went on his way, an invisible cloak of disappointment causing his shoulders to droop.

There are times when being myself leaves those people feeling deflated. They really wanted me to be that other person. Other times, despite my assurances that we do not in fact know each other, the person secretly believes we do. Like the time I was pulled over for speeding in a school zone. The burly young police officer marched up to my car and asked for my license and registration. Upon checking my driver’s license picture against my actual face, the officer performed an exaggerated double take. Before my mind could sink into worries about forgotten parking tickets or a mistaken warrant out for my arrest, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t I know you?” And with that, it was amazing how quickly his demeanor switched from, “You are so busted lady, just hand over those documents and let me get this ticket taken care of” to “I think one of my buddies may have dated this girl at some time. Was he a jerk to her? Or is she the one who helped Dad with his physical therapy after his stroke?” I’ve learned to wait patiently while strangers run through their own catalogs of people and names, trying to find a match.

Despite my repeated claims that I had never met him before, the uncomfortable idea of giving a possible friend or an acquaintance a ticket proved to be too strong. So he politely asked that I pay attention to the school zone signs and gave me a verbal warning. There are days when I try to figure out what it is about me that people believe they know. Am I generic? Do I represent just a basic physical mold and personal style that many people know someone so similar to me? I don’t know. It is what it is. It makes life a little more interesting at least. And anything that can get you out of a ticket can not be that bad!