Have you ever been confused for someone else before? I’m sure you have at least once in your life. But that’s just it. For most people, it’s just ONE time. I however, get mistaken for other people on a regular frickin basis and I feel like one day it’s going to either get me in serious trouble or possibly killed.
Case In Point: Like most Sundays, I traveled to the Union Station stop this afternoon en route to what would eventually be a forfeited/washed out adult kickball game on the National Mall. I stopped in the Union Station shops bathroom near the Metro entrance and while walking down the hall to the women’s restroom this guy is tailing me screaming “Hey Teresa! Hey Teresa!” He is getting closer. I turned around once but didn’t respond because I was thinking “There is no way in hell he is talking to me. Whoever he wants is probably already in the bathroom.” But of course not. He is still yelling. This dumbass is convinced I’m Teresa. I had to respond:
“Sorry. I’m not Teresa.”
*Man turns around and walks the opposite direction*
This is where the “either get me in serious trouble or possibly killed” part comes in. From the way he yelled, you could tell it wasn’t a “Thank God I found you, I was looking everywhere for you” type of “Hey Teresa!” This was more like a “I’m going to beat the living shit out of you when we get home” type of “Hey Teresa!” If there were a recipe for his voice inflection I’d say it was a tablespoon of anger and just a pinch of domestic violence. Just a pinch.
Why does everyone think I’m their cousin/sister/long lost friend/person who owes them $500 for rent? It’s not like I’m an identical or even fraternal twin. I thought I was supposed to look unique. I thought no one else was supposed to look like me but me. Damn it, isn’t this how genetics is supposed to work?
Instead I get situations like the one at the Shoppers Food Warehouse in Laurel last week where while I’m purchasing lunch at the self checkout machine this guy just rolls up on me and goes:
“You graduated from Laurel High School, right?”
–I stare at him blankly—
“Class of 1997?”
“Nah I’m sorry. People confuse me with other people a lot.”
I think I was in the sixth- or seventh-grade in 1997 and I’m not even from Prince George’s County or any of the other bazillion counties that share Laurel so it’s safe to assume that if he was convinced I was this lady then she is clearly my long lost twin. I want a DNA test…and a trip to the Maury Povich show. No wait, just the DNA test. I cannot hide my indescribable urge to punch Maury Povich in the face.
I guess I should give him some credit since most people still think I’m in middle school and this guy is putting me up in the “almost 30-years-old” age bracket. Wait…should I?