You know, you’d think someone who uses words to make a living would be able to remember people’s names, but apparently, those two things aren’t correlated in my brain. Imagine that.
FYI: Butterbeans aren’t yellow.This is our fifth year attending GATS, which means it’s the fifth time I’ve met with a lot of the people we meet with at the big truck shows, and the fourth time I’ve embarrassed myself by not being able to remember anyone’s name. I rely on George to help me with this, because George remembers the name of the labor and delivery nurse he introduced himself to five seconds after he was born, and everyone in between then and now.
We were walking the show floor yesterday, which is pretty amazing, by the way. All the glittery, sparkly “don’t touch me” things were begging to be touched, and corporate reps were putting finishes on their displays. I saw a lot of familiar faces, but unfortunately no names would break the surface in my murky mind.
“Hey babe – there’s the Butterbean lady – what’s her name?”
“Not sure I remember a Butterbean lady.”
“You know, the lady who had on the dress that was exactly the color of a butterbean the first time we met her?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Hurry up, what’s her name? She’s walking this way.”
“There are three women walking toward us, and none of them look like a butterbean.”
“She didn’t look like a butterbean, she had on a dress that was the color of one.”
“I think it’s crazy that you can remember her dress from four years ago, but not her name.”
“Aauugh! Hurry – I’m going to be embarrassed, I should know her name. She was with the lopsided mustache guy and the girl with pretty hair.”
“Lopsided mustache guy? Well, that narrows it down.”
Of course, in the time it takes this little hissing/whispering conversation to happen, we’ve been overtaken by the group, and George hugs everyone, like he’s not nervous at all, and isn’t concerned they’re all going to know I don’t remember anyone’s name. I frantically search badges, which always happen to be turned backwards when you’re trying to surreptitiously glance down at them and maintain respectful eye contact. I finally gave up, and just apologized to everyone for not remembering their names, but I could tell them what they were wearing four years ago, and not everyone can pull off a butterbean-colored dress.
And everything in that sentence sounded just as weird as it did when I said it, so there’s that.
Sometimes, names are hard.
