Do I Know You?

As promised, for Troyhead.

I get this question a lot, in one of two forms.

1. The standard: "You look really familiar. Do I know you?"

I used to actually try to address this head-on. Because, sometimes, they really do know me. I have a memory that, generously speaking, is several steps beyond terrible. There was someone who once stayed at my house for about a week (whose face I can at least picture and whose name might be... Terran? something like that...?) who came up to me about a year later and said "hi" like she knew me. I was in trouble, and I knew it.

Now here's the first reason I choose to just take on the question as legitimate... I am a terrible liar. Thankfully, I haven't taken much opportunity to practice, but when I don't know someone, there is no point in me pretending I do. They'll know. And she knew. So she proceeded to introduce herself (again), to remind me of why, how, and from where we were already acquainted, and carry on the conversation from there. By that point I had started to remember her, and, at least, her story seemed to check out, so I had no reason to doubt her. It was good.

The problem, though, is that I have traveled a lot, and I have met a lot of people who have also traveled a lot. And when I meet one of them in a different context, it gets even stranger. So sometimes I'm back visiting my family in Calgary and someone asks me if they know me (and, actually that should be a dead giveaway... I mean, for anyone who really knew me, I would be the last person they would ask. They'd be more likely to turn and ask a stranger beside us for possible confirmation, or maybe try to find it on the internet. But I digress...) In this case, I end up launching into a rather bizarre routine:

"Well, have you ever been to Geneva? Do you go to church in Calgary... or, rather, did you 7 to 10 years ago? Did I meet you while I was travelling for work? Are you from Toronto? Dubai? Zurich? Do you play in a band? Did you see my band? I've been in Germany a lot. Are you from Germany? Do you work for an airline? Are you into cigars?"

This approach has had it's benefits, I think. First, if it's someone who actually does know me, they probably are able to pick out where from pretty quickly.

Second.... well, I think I need to qualify the second part. As far as I can remember (read this with the "world's worst memory" disclaimer in mind), I have only ever been asked this question by women. Maybe guys have an easier time remembering me. Maybe they just don't care if they remember me. I don't know, but it's always a woman asking. So, second, if she's trying to pick me up, a short rant like that can clear up the "is this going to go anywhere" tension pretty quickly. Generally, by the end, I'm waving my arms around, a little excited, speaking quicker than should be allowed in a public place and about as frightening as I get. Which is not very, but - it turns out, for someone who was married and intent on staying that way - usually enough.

And, of course, that's without even touching on the disturbing issue of why they always ask me if they know me, rather than asking me if I know them. Really... how am I supposed to tell them what they do or don't know? My few (but colorful) experiences with telling people what they do or don't know has never ended happily to date, and I'm not about to head in that direction again without very good reason.

2. The freaky derivative: "I know someone just like you from ________"

Now this one troubles me on a number of fronts.

First, why do they insist on telling me where My Mysterious Twin (MMT) is from? Do they think I'm going to look for him? Like if they say "Topeka" I'll say, "That's impossible!" but if they say "Duluth" I'll ask if his name is Martin? Am I going to plan a series of vacations one day around the sightings I've heard about, hoping to hear more as I close in on ground zero and picking up MMTs to join in the quest as I go? That eventually there will be a small army of us scouring Sydney, looking for the rumoured final one who survived in the outback for a heroic 15 minutes without a sunburn?

Second, this message (which, again, tends to come from women) is usually delivered by someone who has known me less than a week, and frequently within the first 15 minutes of our acquaintance. You don't even know me yet - how can you know someone just like me? Or do you mean he just looks like me? I suppose it could be that they know MMT so well that only a glance at me is enough to confirm it beyond any doubt. But I do find it a bit offensive that they believe I am one-dimensional enough to be known that quickly. I have layers, baby! I take time!

Third, how much like me do you suppose he really is? I mean, if he is truly exactly like me, I am, along with most of humanity, frightened beyond what I can describe in words I'll let my daughter read. Don't get me wrong - I like me well enough, but I'm pretty sure that one of me is enough. And if he's just mostly like me, what is that going to do to our respective odds at making our way in the world? If MMT is like me in every way except that he is fabulous with directions, imagine the problems (or crazy hijinks, if you prefer) that will ensue when someone who knows him entrusts me with the duty of getting them to the hospital on time to deliver the baby. That's just not going to help anyone! And think of his frustration when someone who knows me asks him how to get to the theatre and then goes in the exact opposite direction. No, this is just a no-win situation for anyone involved.

So this, oddly enough, brings us back to Tattoo You. I think one memorable tattoo in the middle of my forehead should be enough to keep me from having to deal with this question for a long, long while. Maybe the Zildjian logo?

Tattoo You

I like tattoos, in the sense that they are great to make jokes about, and that some that are really nicely designed can look good on some people. I don't like tattoos in the sense that most of the time they detract more than they add (kind of like brass table decorations, if you know what I mean) and they are very permanent.

For a long time I wanted to get one, a specific one: the Zildjian cymbals logo (just the script… it’s beautiful, isn’t it? And they make fantastic cymbals… *sigh*). I believe that decisions like this shouldn’t be made hastily, and so I wanted to spend at least a year to see if my mind changed. Deep inside, even at the start, I loved the design but felt that it was deeply, unquestionably wrong to put a company logo on my body (even with all trademark issues aside). After a year, and two years, and even now – probably 8 years later – I still love the design, but could not bring myself to become a human advertisement. Except maybe for Pringles, but that’s a whole other issue.

I’m still intrigued by the idea of getting a tattoo. My last idea (as of spring last year) was to get two words in Hebrew: grace and father: “father” both to remember my Father but also to mark who I am, and “grace” because that’s why I am. There are a number of problems that I have yet to resolve about this, though. The most significant of which is where would I get them?

My preferred spot would be on the inside of my wrists, so that I could read them (I mean, theoretically, if I could read Hebrew I could read them) with my arms in front of me and my palms facing up. I love what I read in the Old Testament, where God told his people to bind his word to them to be a constant reminder, and I think that like a band on your left ring finger, this would be a beautiful and inescapable reminder of what matters. It may be a little too visible, though… good for starting conversations, but perhaps a problem for work. As far as it’s ever a good idea to get inked, I think there’s a certain wisdom in having it done in a place that can be covered as needed. So, wrists are out.

My next preference would be on my chest, one word on each side, but, as a friend pointed out helpfully, that could be seen as just a tad aggressive. Plus, I wouldn’t really be able to see them unless I was looking in the mirror. I know what you’re thinking, but no, I actually don’t spend hours with my shirt off staring at myself in the mirror, so it wouldn’t be as practical as it first sounds. And while learning to read regular Hebrew may be something I could spend some time on, learning to read it backwards is a little more of an investment than I’m interested in. On my back, just below my neck, with one word on each side of my spine would be my third favourite spot aesthetically, but then I would NEVER see them, completely defeating the purpose. So that’s a no-go. Tricky.

The second point was one that a few colleagues have pointed out. The possibility of getting strip-searched going into a Muslim country is not that remote: I never had a problem when going into the UAE, but several of my co-workers have, either there or Egypt. And that could be a point at which having Hebrew characters indelibly printed on me could be rather inconvenient, to say the least.

I don’t know… maybe I should just get some henna (or magic markers?) and be satisfied with that. I have a few more months until my self-imposed cool-down period is over, anyway…