Hello. And you are . . . ?

I was in the lunch line at White Castles when a stranger greeted me. The problem is, he was someone that I should have recognized.

“Hi Matt,” he said with the enthusiasm of someone who’s run into an old friend. I stared blankly back at him.

“You don’t recognize me, do you.”

“Sorry,” I said. I really need a clever line for the next time that this happens.

“I’m Paul from St. Mary’s.”

That didn’t help me much. St. Mary’s grade school? St. Mary’s church? I’ve gone to two of those! I rifled through my mental rolodex and came up with a blank.

I’m not a guy who knows a ton of people. I’m not like my mother, who can duck into the grocery store and make a dozen friends. I am the kind of guy, whoever, who will most likely forget your name five minutes after you give it. There’s also a chance I may not recognize you even if I know you. It’s embarrassing and somewhat alarming. My mind’s a mysterious place.

The most egregious example of my gift for faces came a year ago. Gina and I were at Mass when some guy and his wife made a beeline for me in the lobby afterward. The husband smiled and extended his hand while my synapses sputtered.

“You know this guy,” my brain whispered.

“Who is it?”

“You got me.”

It was clear to everyone involved that I didn’t recognize the man or his wife, which made for an awkward situation as I should have made introductions.

After a few painful moments, my boss jumped in and introduced himself.

Now, it wasn’t like he was new to the job and I had an excuse. Chris was probably at the newspaper a good half a year by then. Gina, of course, was mortified as we walked through the parking lot. She asked a perfectly reasonable question.

“How can you not recognize your boss?”

I guess you can say it’s a gift.

Sorry about that, Chris and Paul. Nothing personal.