Monday, May 19, 2008

Princess Pity Throws a Party

Alternate title:  Nat King Cole Had it Wrong

Alternate alternate title:  I Had a Reader Once

I have always been forgettable.  I made my peace (ish) with it long ago.  Like when I lived in the dorms for TWO years in college and the lame desk attendants NEVER remembered me and would rub it in (read: ask for my ID) every time I walked in.  It went a little something like this:

Spleen, Digs & SSG walk in the front doors of Chapultepec
Desk attendant barely lifts eyelids and nods at Spleen & Digs.
SSG tries to walk through.

Desk attendant, now wide awake and all Navy SEAL like "Um, EXCUSE ME.  I need YOUR ID."
SSG:  But I LIVE here.
Navy SEAL:  ID. NOW.
SSG:  But I've lived here as long as they have.
Navy SEAL:  (Raises eye brow, reaches hand toward walkie talkie.)
SSG:  Don't you remember when you busted us for drinking Zima's in our room last year?  That was ME!
Navy SEAL:  (Can't wait to use the words "we have a 6-2-niner, I repeat, a 6-2-niner on our hands.  Need back up.").

SSG flings her SDSU ID at the Navy SEAL.

The "Sometimes" part in the SSG moniker is a direct result of the following:
  • Having to introduce myself repeatedly to people I've met 15 times before.  
  • Explaining how exactly I know people when I start speaking to them in line at the grocery store.  "I'm your neighbor, I've lived next door to you for three years."  
  • Being called "ummm, Fisher's mom, what's your name again?" by the guy that I was convinced had a major crush on me at the dog park last summer.  
  • Another neighbor talking to my house sitter (who happens to look nothing like me, who is also Mexican where I am the whitest of all white people, seriously I could be translucent) for 20 minutes thinking it was me.  
Most of the time I just shake it off and put it into perspective (read: stay in denial) by telling myself that this little quirk has given me room to quietly observe the subtleties of life.  But sometimes it bugs the shit out of me.

Last month I broke up with Starbucks.  And I started going over to Stumptown, dragging my coworkers with me despite their protests and overall bitching about its distance from our office.  And I don't expect the coffee peeps to remember me and my little latte that I get each day.  Even though at Starbucks they remember A by name AND his drink despite the fact that they never ask for names in there.  But the other day there was a dawning of recognition amongst the barrista's face at Stumptown.  I got all smiley, no way was this happening.  Someone remembered me?  Could it be?   

And that's when I realized that the barrista was smiling at A ... who was standing behind me and about three other people.  "Large mocha?" he shouted to A.  Who kindly replied "yeah, thanks!"

WTF peeps?
(And don't worry, that's rhetorical.  I know you're not reading anyway.)

If anyone is looking for me (and by anyone I mean my dog and blood relatives who are obligated to miss me if I don't show up somewhere) I'll be under the covers with a box of Bordeaux from See's watching a Veronica Mars marathon.

Waaa haaa haaa.


Anonymous said... so have a reader AND Princess Pity needs to get over herself because little Bob was just-this very evening- pretending to be "Auntie B" at her babies birthday party...she misses her Auntie, the pup and the cat and hopes to go to Camp Portland again very soon!

Lots of x's & o's coming your way!!!
The Bobs

Anonymous said... your blog design... twins did you say?

(Sometimes!) Serendipitous Girl said...

You guys are awesome, thanks for the love! Give little Bob a hug for me!

Lys said...

Forgettable. I think not. Most of the baristas by my job I have trained. However, I learned that to make them remember your name (even if they spell it incorrectly) is tipping. Granted it took me 6 months of regularly coming by before they even asked but it works.

Just say "Dammit - you will notice me" and if people are acting like azzes, write 'em off.

We, however, remember your name. That's why we read SSG.