A couple months ago I was at the bank drive-through window when the teller said, “Oh, hello! I just talked to you sister yesterday.” Which was news to me, because I don’t have a sister, and to my knowledge my brother has not been depositing checks in drag. I corrected her error, but the incident reminded me of two other events in my life.
First, right after I moved to Indianapolis, I was waiting in a line wrapped around a movie theater to get tickets for Star Wars – The Phantom Menace before we all found out the prequels were going to suck. The guy in front of me turned around and said, “Didn’t I go to high school with you?” Of course he hadn’t, because he wasn’t from Kentucky. The second event, was two or three years later when I was living fat and alone in my college apartment. I stopped at a liquor store to buy pina colada stuff when the counter boy asked me, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” But he didn’t.
During both of these incidents, I wasn’t so much amazed that someone thought they knew me. What I really wanted to say was, “Wow. There’s someone else as fat as me in this city? Who also looks like me? How completely bizarre.” Because seriously, how many super morbidly obese doppelgangers can you have?
I have never met this overweight “twin” of mine, but now I wonder if she too lost weight and banks at the same place I do.