Yesterday I got a sandwich at my local sandwich joint (always: turkey on toasted marble rye with lettuce tomato mayo and swiss), but before I could order, I was busily staring at the gal in the apron who wanted to take my order, pencil hovering at the ready over her pad of paper. I had just hung out with her the other night, ya see, and we had had a great time chit-chatting and ardently discussing the use of pomegranate seeds as a culinary garnish (I’m still a food geek, btw, even though I don’t get paid for it any more). So why didn’t she recognize me? Say hi? Smile in acknowledgment?
I stood there, smiling encouragingly at her, generously allowing her time to make up for her embarrassing gaffe.
After a bit of this competitive ogling and eyebrow waggling, the truth finally outs. She’s her twin. Entirely identical. Sexy husky voice and all. After a little bit of me being embarrassed and her being all “oh I get that all the time” I gave her my order. I spent the rest of lunch forcing my brain to recognize that that voice and person behind the counter was her, not her sister, and it was hard.
Then I remembered a time when I was in college, I think it was the first week of my sophomore year, when a woman I had never seen before stopped me in the garden behind the art museum, literally shook me by the shoulders, staring in my face, nose to nose, saying “Oh my GOD! Su-ZANNE!!! You’re back!!! It’s so great to see you!!!” (my name is not Suzanne.) Turns out this chick (suzanne) had just spent her junior year in Italy (art history major, natch), and I clearly resembled her strongly. Face-to-face-strongly. Yell in my ear strongly and insist that I am, in fact, Suzanne, and why didn’t you say hi, bitch? It wasn’t easy, but I finally got away from that nutcase in the garden.
Remembering this, I smiled to myself, tossed away the wrapper for my most delicious turkey sandwich and brought the little wicker plate up to the counter (because good people bus their own damn tables, and if you don’t know that, there’s little hope for you), told my friend’s sister it was nice to have met her, and left.
If I am not Suzanne, then you are not your sister, and I will now stop staring at you and treating you like a carnival freak.