When we lived on the coast I was used
to being recognized by customers, even though I seem to lack a facial recognition gene that everyone else has, and didn’t have a clue who they were, they knew me. Long conversations with me fishing for some clue as to how we were connected and from where. Then my ever patiently waiting husband would query me as we walked away as to their identity, and he was always tickled to hear that I hadn’t a clue, but still had talked to them for so long. Funny, sweetie very funny… Up here I thought we were incognito… after all who would know us other then a few family members, and occasional friend. Not so… seems more people know us then we think.
When the repairman for Frankie [our treadmill] arrived the first thing he told us is that he knows the former owner’s of our house, and has been here many times. He recently visited them in their new place… That just feels… weird.
My hairdresser’s a former school friend of a niece, our Chiropractor treats acquaintances whom we are no longer in touch with. The lady at the grocery store chatting us up about the best olives to buy, is a former garden center customer from the coast. And the woman who looked at me oddly in the Wallymart line up didn’t want me to move faster she recognized me from our youth, my Mom and Dad were friends with her parents.
We are very careful what we say, and whom we say it too, small towns love to gossip, say hello to a cashier in one store, and have the greeting passed back you in the hardware store down the road. Talk is cheap, travels quickly, watch what you say, and have no regrets. That’s my small town motto. And wear a wig if you want to rob a bank and not be recognized,… recently a local person was caught cycling down the road after robbing the bank, because many of the tellers recognized her as a regular.