The Process of Figuring Out Where You Know That Guy From
Okay, so I’m just sitting in Market, barely enjoying a subpar omelet when I see this guy look at me from the other table. Why the f*ck is he staring? Can I help you sir? And then that’s when I realize— I know this dude from somewhere.
I know this guy. No yeah, I definitely know this guy. He’s uh…in my Spanish class I think? No that’s not it. Maybe a different class. A lecture? No, there’s no way I could recognize anyone in a 1,000 person lecture this distinctly. But who the f*ck is he? Was he the person from my group project? No, I remember that project. It was me and that girl Brenna who never did anything. It’s Introduction to Sociology, Brenna, you can keep up.
Okay, so it’s not from a class. Where then? O-Week. It’s got to be freshman year O-Week. I had like, triple the amount of friends then. But I still have all those people on snapchat and I don’t recognize him from any stories. So it’s not O-Week and not a friend of anyone from O-Week. Uh. Geez.
Oh no. Is it…that guy? Guy I said I’d text but then never did? Oh damn, I was very drunk and I couldn’t name him if I tried. Oh my god I hope it’s not him. What if he remembers me? Oh god what if he asks why I never texted him? There is quite literally nothing worse than if this guy approaches me to ask why I woke up the next morning full of regrets. Although he looks a little shorter than me, and if I know drunk me like I think I do, she’ll get with anyone taller than her, so I don’t think that’s it.
So, I’m contemplating all the possibilities of where his face came from, when all of a sudden he says “Hello!” and waves. Okay, so me and guy are at like a waving level but not at a talking level, interesting. TA? Friends ex-boyfriend? Friends ex-friend? President of a club I joined but never showed up to? Clueless.
I start texting people. Brown hair. Kinda short. Looks like he’d do well on a show like Stranger Things but not 10 Things I Hate About You, if you know what I mean (because I don’t). Someone has got to know this boy.
CSI is called. FBI too. I’m on every social media. Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest; it doesn’t matter. Every photo on the internet is in my hand as I frantically scroll. I call detectives. My parents. I’m taking snipe snapchats and sending them to everyone I’ve ever met. The caption? WHO IS THIS.
He gets up from his table. For a second you think, oh no, a conversation is about to happen. Instead he gives me a casual, “Have a good day” and heads towards the rotating stack of garbage. I am safe another day. But for how long?
How much have I dedicated to this boy now? Are we friends? How long can you convince someone that you remember them before it catches up to you? This is a lot of commitment. Are we dating? Do I have to marry this guy now? Am I on drugs? Oh shit, I am on drugs, I totally forgot. A lot of drugs. That was the janitor wasn’t it? Oh.