It Is All About Me

I don't normally allow people to use my blog. Unless, maybe, if they have some nice things to say about me, then, of course, it is a diferenr story. Take it away Par! believe my old friend, Eddie Hunter, knows every person he grew up with, went to school with, hung out with in greasy spoons (and some much nicer), and everyone he worked with at the Post Office, even though he retired decades ago. On the other hand is me, who can't remember anyone. Today Sally and I were in a grocery store and a man called me by name. When I turned to him he said to his wife, "I can tell he doesn't recognize me," and he was right. He told me he was an electrician at the school district where we both worked until we retired. He gave me his name which meant nothing to me. He even remembered my wife from her job at the school district. When we parted company I told Sally I did not remember the guy, nothing about him was familiar. He gave us his name and I didn't remember that, either. Eddie and I are the opposites here. He remembers everyone, I remember no one. I don't have anything to say to them, anyway. I haven't done a bit of work since I retired in January 2009, so I have nothing in common with most people (a streak of the anti-social runs through me) and Sally has volunteered at the Assistance League for years. She loves her volunteer work, and making friends along the way. More power to Eddie, Sally, and anyone who can remember people from the past. I daresay it's a gift. Since I don't care about former coworkers except when I see their obituaries, and Eddie can remember everyone, and perhaps he even has a diary of when people die. That's a joke...but only a kinda joke. Snort.