At A Loss for Words in the Name Game

I’ve been thinking about the laws we create for the safety and well being of the public.  The mandatory seat belt law requires motorists and passengers to wear safety belts while the car is in motion, or risk paying a hefty fine.  Our state also has a mandatory helmet law, to protect the noggins of those who prefer motorcycles to automobiles.  We even have a bicycle helmet law for children aged 16 and under, though I’d venture a guess that 75% of the kids in my town don’t adhere to it.  So if I may, I’d like to suggest one more law that might prove helpful to citizens.

Could we please have a mandatory nametag law?

I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I’m willing to bet that there are a handful of like-minded folks who would welcome the concept of mandatory nametags for adults.

I envy those people who can remember the name of everyone they’ve ever met, from pre-school classmates to the guy at the liquor store who just recommended a decent bottle of red.  I am not one of those people.  I will forget your name 30 seconds after you tell it to me.  I will ask you on two or three subsequent occasions to “tell me your name again” and then promptly forget it.  When I am introduced to someone, I am so caught up in wanting to make a good first impression that I forget to do the one thing that actually helps make a good impression: remember their name.  

There can be only two explanations for those people who can effortlessly remember all the names of people they’ve met: They have an extra gene woven into their DNA.   Or they have super powers. 

This affliction hasn’t improved much with age.  A few years ago, at a brunch for some friends, I began making introductions so that folks from home and work could get to know each other.  As I went around the room, I successfully rattled off each friend’s name until I came to the last person, a friend’s husband.  “And this is…uh….uh…” I stammered, as my brain farted and I prayed for the earth to swallow me.  This wasn’t a casual acquaintance, this was a close friend’s husband who I had known for many years, whose name I must have spoken a hundred times.  After what seemed like six or seven hours, his name finally popped into my head, but the damage was done.   To this day, I cringe at the memory.

This type of block has become more frequent.  It doesn’t help matters that the older I get, the more people I meet.  When I recognize a face, I can no longer place whether it’s from my children’s pre-school, from my time with the Newcomers club, a Pampered Chef party, Lego robotics or one of the many sports teams my kids have played on.  Add to this the fact that as a columnist, my picture is printed in the paper each week, so people recognize me even though I’ve never met some of them.

This is where the mandatory nametag law comes into play.  Just think how much easier life would be if everyone wore a nametag all the time.  No longer would I need to pull my sneaky trick of introducing someone whose name I know to someone whose name I forget, hoping the latter will volunteer that information.  

Not only would we be able to remember the names of friends and acquaintances, we could also address total strangers by name.  “Go ahead Gail, I think you were here first,” I could tell the customer at the deli.  “Excuse me Tom, is anyone sitting in these seats?” I’d inquire at the movies.  Doesn’t our behavior improve when we’re around people we know?  If we were identifiable 100% of the time, we’d have to be on our best behavior.  Otherwise, we run the risk of someone saying to a friend, “Laura Anderson just flipped me the bird when I cut her off at the transfer station.”

I realize this flies in the face of privacy issues, especially at a time when each doctor’s visit requires the signing of a ten-page disclaimer.  But just think of all the awkwardness and embarrassment we could avoid if we could just let go of our anonymity. If you agree with me, just cut out the following and paste it to your shirt:

“Hello!  My name is _______________________”. 

If you do, I promise to call you by name.