It would have been the early 1980s. I was living in Canberra. This story is true, I am embarrassed to say.
I had some dry cleaning to be done, left my office and walked into the shop to drop it off.
The guy behind the counter, pulled out his form and asked: “what’s the date?”.
Now I have a pretty good visual memory. It’s not photographic (wouldn’t that be great), but if I have seen something recently I can bring it back to mind – usually.
“Oh, its…” I started. My visual memory (of which I’m sorry to say, I was a little bit proud) was working away. I was trying to visualise the calendar that sat on my desk, which I had left only 15 minutes earlier. I could almost see it.
I continued: “it’s…. hang on, I know it…, it’s…”. No, it just wouldn’t come. By this time, in my mind’s eye, I was seeing the other things on my desk: the papers, the pen where I had left it, my stapler, the little desk calendar…. But I just couldn’t “see” the date on the calendar.
A little frustrated that my mental picture of my desk calendar just wasn’t resolving into clarity, I said: “Oh, c’mon, its…”. But no, I just couldn’t bring it back to mind.
“Sorry” I said, “I don’t know”.
While I was going through all these mental gymnastics, I did notice that he was looking at me strangely – and more and more with each attempt to almost bring the date to mind.
But with my final declaration that I didn’t know, his look went from strange to worried.
his look went from strange to worried
Peering over the counter, he looked straight at me: “you don’t know your own name…?”.
No amount of explanation of mishearing really sufficed.
He wrote my name down on the form (at which point I noticed the date had previously been filled in).
I slunk out of the door, feeling his eyes staring into my back; sensing his behind-my-back shaking of his head; and imagining him muttering to his workmates about the guy he met that day who wasn’t really the full quid.
Image: Alex Simpson on Unsplash
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