Nine times out of ten when I make a new acquaintance that person will tell me that I look exactly like someone they know. They ask me a few times if I’m related to the person they’re thinking of, I assure them I’m not and they reluctantly let the issue rest. (Please keep this in mind in order to better understand the following sequence of events.)
This weird little story begins one afternoon at work when I decided that instead of going home for lunch, like I usually did, I would treat myself to lunch at a nearby restaurant. The decor is horrendous, wall to wall carpet from the seventies, low dingy ceiling tiles and clutter everywhere, but the food was always delicious.
I walked up to the counter to place my order.
“I’ll have the lamb souvlaki with a side salad.”
“You don’t like the souvlaki, you like the bean burrito.” She told me. I was pretty sure I’d never ordered the bean burrito as I basically hate burritos and will only eat them when forced out of politeness but I had no wish to be rude to the girl.
“Really? I think I like the souvlaki.” I insisted.
“No, you hate the souvlaki, you like the burrito.” And I saw her write down, ‘burrito’ on her little slip of paper. I thought to myself, ‘I guess I’m having a burrito for lunch, didn’t see that coming.’ and sat down at a table by the window and picked up one of the many National Geographic magazines that were piled throughout the restaurant.
I was by now engrossed in an article on the effects of carbon on our Oceans when my burrito was put down on the table in front of me in a loud and angry fashion. I looked up and the young woman had her arms folded across her chest and she was scowling at me.
“You aren’t even going to say hello to me?”
“Hello….” I said, smiling in what I imagine to be a slightly frightened fashion. This girl was complex, like an onion with all it’s layers. I looked down at my burrito, it was just as unappealing as I’d imagined it would be.
“You don’t remember me?” She hissed. I was frantic to remember this person, but she didn’t look even remotely familiar.
“I’m really sorry, I’m so bad with faces.” This was not a lie, I really am horrible at remembering faces.
“After everything we’ve been through, and I gave you a cat.” She was near yelling now.
“Oh…. I have not had a cat since I was in elementary school. I’m allergic to cats.”
“Tracy?” She asked me.
“No, sorry, not my name.” It was beginning to make sense now. The woman at the table next to me had apparently been listening, and since she knew me she leaned over and said, “Her name is definitely not Tracy, not even close.”
The poor girl turned bright pink, turned and literally ran to hide in the kitchen. The woman at the table next to me looked over at me and raised her brows, I raised my brows back and tried to eat my bean burrito.
Addicted to Writing 