If I were famous, I would expect people to recognize me. I'd find it normal for people to stop me and say hi, wave to me, or beckon me over to chat. I would know that they would know that they know me......in that "I've heard about you/seen you on..." sort of knowing level.
Alas, I am not famous. So I do not anticipate people "spotting" me when I am out. Oh, sure, I've had it happen on more than one occassion (gross understatement), but I am never sure how they know it's me.
I was in the city Thursday for some holiday sightseeing and present shopping. It had been a long day & I was heading back to Penn. I'm waiting on the corner of 6th Ave & 41st when I hear "Hey". There are at least 25 other people standing on the corner waiting to cross and a bunch more milling around trying to figure out their direciton and a bunch more walking on by. So I don't even acknowledge the "hey" because I am almost as much of a tourist as the others around me. "Hey".....there it is again. And I, for some unknown reason, spin my head in random directions in the slightest possibility that the 'hey' is for me.
All I see is a cop car. With a hand out of the window..............and a finger beckoning in my direciton. "I know you." Again, look of confusion as my head is glancing in all directions now hoping that the cop is speaking with someone else. "Miss, in the pink coat. Come here. I know you. " Like a magnet drawing in a paperclip, I walk over to the car. "Me? Are you saying you know me?" "Yeah. From Briar. You were my prof." ????????????????
Well now I am looking for cameras and some guy with a microphone doing some 'gotcha' deal. So I lean in to the window (over what was a very attractive partner) and say "What? When? Me?" Yes, I do have a college degree......................such probing questions I ask.
"Yeah. Back in '01. My name's Danny". Danny.............danny......................I looked at the face (much heavier than it had been) and say "Danny? What's your last name?" He mumbles something (yup--briar material) and then it hits me "Dan? From the baseball team?' "Yeah that's me." "So, you're a cop? Did you do the CJ degree?" "Nah. I didn't finish at briar. How are you?" Still in a blondish fog, I just start rambling for a minute and then mumbled something about catching a train.
How does he remember me from 2001? I don't remember much of 2001. Not for any other reason then I don't. And how is it that they spot me in crowds? And why can't a future husband spot me like that?
Snapping back into reality, I realize that being spotted is not fun. It's freaky, creepy, and I miss my anonymity. Had this encounter been something that could catapult my earning power to a better bracket, fine. It's nothing. All it is for me is a reminder that I have to look good at all times. Ugh. Effort.
