"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


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You Know Who I Am, You Bastard!

It’s the first day of law school. You don’t know anyone. You’re looking around with professed intention, absorbedly trying to locate your imaginary group of friends and/or boyfriend. You run into some random kid, introduce yourself, and end up talking for a while. By the end of the conversation, you know where this kid is from, what kind of dog he has, and the name of his 2nd grade teacher. Then you part ways. When you see him in the hall several weeks later, you barely get a nod. In a month or so, you only receive a blank, unresponsive stare. He passes by with his head down so as to avoid the dangerous prospect of eye contact.

This scenario is just one of the infinite permutations of a phenomenon that threatens to be the downfall of American civilization. I like to call it the “I Don’t Know You” fallacy.

For some reason, people often feel the need to hide the fact that they recognize each other. This isn’t only true in situations where it might be embarrassing to acknowledge whatever previous interaction you had with someone. In those situations (you know what I’m talking about, nudge nudge) it is perfectly reasonable to bow your head in shame and run away. What I’m referring to now are people who have no reason at all not to know you. And yet as they walk by in the hall, their cold, glazed-over expressions say, “I don’t know who you are, and even if I did I wouldn’t say hello.” For people who are supposed to be so smart, they have a suspicious defect in memory when it comes to other human beings.

I’ve decided that there are two basic explanations for the existence of the “I Don’t Know You” fallacy. The first is laziness. People don’t always feel like getting into a conversation, and pretending not to know someone is a surefire way to avoid one. I have been guilty of this when I’m studying and don’t feel like dealing with anyone. I pretend to be too absorbed in my book to notice people, and if anyone happens to see me, they pretend not to. So we sit there in mutual denial, two tables away, each refusing to acknowledge the other’s presence. The other explanation is self-absorption. Nowadays, common decency takes a back seat to the urgency of our own daily lives. Instead of saying good morning to each other, we plow to class or work like linebackers. This is no way to live.

I propose that we take a stand against this debilitating social illness. The next time someone pretends not to recognize you, point at them and scream, “You know who I am, you bastard!” You’ll have a crowd gathering around at this point, so you can follow up by giving a verbatim account of the conversation you had with them at the beginning of the year, or by telling everyone in the vicinity their 2nd grade teacher’s name. (“Tell Mrs. McAllister I said hello! Oh, and give Skippy a kiss for me, asshole!”) Mercilessly berating these people in front of their peers is the decent thing to do. They might be a little embarrassed to be called out, but they’ll thank you later.

And more important, they will always, always remember you.

posted by Bekah at 11:04 AM :: |