I can see you coming up the sidewalk toward me. As you get closer, I can see your face is somewhat familiar, though no name pops to mind. Did we share a class? Are you the friend of a friend of a friend? Did we ever live in the same building?
There’s no time to figure it all out. You’re about to enter the response range, in which I'm required to acknowledge your presence. I already made eye contact so I can’t ignore you. If I take the "oblivious" approach now, I come off as a jerk. If I guess the wrong name – and I’m not even sure where to start guessing… maybe something that starts with M… he might be a Mike or a Mitchell, maybe Matt… nope, can’t risk it – I come across as insulting and a jerk.
Fortunately, I have one last card to play: my Y chromosome.
As you come within five feet, I draw on my male-given right to non-verbal response and nod at him, thoughtfully. You nod in reply and we go our ways.
The distance between us begins to grow again and I wonder if you were having just as much trouble trying to remember who I was…
Carl? Kevin? I’m pretty sure it’s one of those hard-C names.
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We’ve all been in that situation where you have that “tip of the tongue” wrestling match where the mind blocks hold on just long enough to potentially make you look like a fool. It’s even worse when the mysterious strangers know your name. Now you’ve got the extra guilt that you can’t give equal attention to this person who took the time to memorize your existence, you twerp.
Having another person with you can sometimes complicate or mitigate the situation. There are few situations like being caught in the spotlight when someone asks, “And who is this?” I believe the brain does physical flip-flops of an identical sort when charged by a wildebeest (though I must admit, those engaging in scientific experimentation address this theory have had trouble raising the necessary funding and volunteers to prove it). My tact usually is to introduce the person I do know (“This is Lucas, and…”), and then use a pregnant pause to cue the other person to identify him or herself.
In some cases, there is no opportunity to apply this approach. Should the strangely familiar person walk away, and I’m asked, “So who was that?” I have to admit I have no idea.
Of course, as I noted earlier, guys can get away with this easier. Don’t blame me. Blame Oprah, Dr. Phil, the “Men are from Mars” author and other “experts” who say guys don’t communicate as well. We men got the memo and unanimously decided to take as much advantage of it as we could. Ha, ha.
Here are some acceptable greetings clueless males can exchange:
Head bob (reverse nodding)
Arched, thoughtful eyebrows
Knowing smirk
Informal greeting: “Hey/Hello/Hola”
Formal acknowledgement: “Dude/Sir/Dog” – whatever best fits your locale
“Good __indicate current time___”
General comment about weather (“Hot/Cold/Nice, isn’t it?”)
Casual question about their daily labor (i.e. “Workin’ hard, huh?”)
Hand gesture (wave, salute, gang symbol)
Mouth clicking/clucking (often in combination with a nod or bob)
Reference facts you think may apply to them (such as their residency or a possible acquaintance you both share) Warning: Should the guess be incorrect, blame scatter-mindedness on lack of sleep, medication, your vice of choice.
Or simply grunt
You’d be amazed at how far these steps can take you. People can have an in-depth, meaningful conversation without knowing for sure who they’re connecting with.
I’ve even had prolonged exchanges relying on the final suggestion, grunts and other guttural noises. As former roommates of mine can attest, I’m a slow riser – if given the luxury to wake at my own pace (I can be up and out the door in two minutes or less if necessary as well, though I prefer to smack the snooze alarm for an hour or so). In some cases, we traded remarks back and forth semi-regularly for about an hour and the only response that could be found in a dictionary would be “Bye” when my roommate finally left for class. It’s a gift.
While I am good at it, nonetheless, I hate employing such tactics for too long. If you wait to admit the truth of your gap, it becomes harder for you to later ask what the name truly is (revealing how you’ve been engaged in unequal communications this whole time). Of course, extended contact also exponentially increases the odds you’ll learn their name indirectly (by someone calling out to them, or by seeing their name on a piece of their writing). The odds are nutty, no matter how you call it.
I’ve long complained I’m “bad with names.” I don’t know whether that is actually true, or whether I simply come into contact with so many people that I overwhelm myself. Part of it is also my own stubborn subconscious, which occasional looks at people and gives people the names that I think fit them best.
Your parents called you Frank? You should’ve been a Bruno. You look like a Bruno to me. I’m not going to call you Bruno because, I guess, you’re Frank. But when I see you… I’m going to think “Bruno.”
My brain works funny that way. I remember back in high school when and friend and I would come up with incorrect pneumonic devices. These memories aids were clever, easily memorable, and completely perfect except for the fact that the facts weren’t true. I remember times when the teacher would call out that it was time for the quiz, and I’d be looking at my friend and asking, “So what do the words really mean, again?”
That’s being “gifted” in the same manner that Pandora received the present of a special box.
So, if in the future you see me coming down the sidewalk with a conflicted look, I may not be trying to pick which clueless greeting to exchange. I could quite possibly actually know your name. I just might be mentally flipping a coin to pick between it and another name.
Mark? Mac? Maybe Marv. No, it can’t be. I’ve heard of anyone really named Marv; except for that sports guy. Mitch? Aww… forget it.
Grunt with combination head bob and furrowed brow.
