Some folks are more memorable

Have you ever wondered why we remember certain people and not others? When we still lived in the Dayton, Ohio, area every few months I would run into a dark-haired girl. She would call me by name and talk like we were best friends.

I had no idea who she was or how I supposedly knew her. She would tell me that we worked in the same place at one time. I never did figure out who she was.

So why did she know me when I didn’t know her? I really don’t know.

I received a short email from one of my daughter’s friends recently. I knew her by her initials, KC. I guess my name popped up on her Facebook feed. She is the only one of my daughter’s friends that I know. She is the one who took my daughter under her wing when Beth first graduated from nursing school.

KC went on to specialize in dying people. When my mom was dying, I asked Beth to have her call me. When she did, all I could do was cry because listening to her voice made it real. The doctors weren’t going to work their magic this time. Listening to KC tell me that Mom’s journey wasn’t the same as mine and that I couldn't help her broke my heart. She also let me know that I would survive.

This last message from her said that Beth and I were people she remembered. She speculated that was because we believed in her when nobody else did.

There are plenty of people that I remember their names and stories but wouldn’t know if I passed them on the street.

One such person was Edie. She was a tiny woman. We worked at the Upper Krust sandwich shop. She was involved with a crazy man. My first day at work, he called the restaurant. They handed me the phone. The guy let off a string of profanity. When he finally took a breath, as sweetly as I could, I asked him to repeat himself as I didn’t catch everything he had said. He slammed the phone down and called back a few minutes later.

Anyone who has ever worked at a restaurant offering carryout service knows that tying up the phone has a serious impact on business. We began using the pay phone in the hallway to call him and leave the phone off the hook. This would keep his line tied up until some kind soul put the receiver back where it belonged.

There are many more Edie stories but like I said before, I wouldn’t know her if she knocked on my door.

I worked for Borden’s Dairy at one time. That was where I was introduced to a keypunch machine. Three other girls and I spent our days typing codes into the machine. It translated our keystrokes into holes in a paper card. The cards were then fed into another machine that translated the holes into printed orders. The orders determined which products went into the delivery man’s truck. And, yes, it was all men that did that job.

I was friends with one of the girls. Her name was Mary. Even after we had both left the job, we remained friends. She moved away and got married. We are pen pals to this day. So, why are the two of us friends and not the other girls we worked with? Again, I don’t know.

I guess that some people are just more memorable than others. Sometimes I think that there are people who are meant to help us on our own journeys through life, or that we are meant to help them.