There was a short wait to be seated for my wife and I at our favourite restaurant. As luck would have it, we ended up standing in the foyer beside a former coworker of mine, who I had not crossed paths with in the ten years since I had left the company.
The initial “Oh hey, how are you!?” was followed up with the usual what have you been up to, how’s the wife, how’s the kids conversation.
I learned that he had continued to work in the same industry but had, like myself, moved on to another company. Still married. His kids had graduated and are doing well. Normal small talk.
Before we had a chance to chat further we were interrupted by the waiter calling out that our table would be ready in one minute.
“Well I guess that’s our cue.” I said, signaling the beginning of the end of our conversation.
“It was great seeing you again!”
“You too!” I replied, “Glad you’re doing well!”
At that moment, what would have been a brief interaction, the likes of which we all have daily, became something more.
As I turned towards the seating area, the former coworker reached out and touched my arm.
“Oh hey, do you ever see…” he trailed off, struggling to come up with a name.
“Brandon?” I offered, the name of another fellow that had worked with us.
“No,not Brandon. Oh what the heck was his name,” he continued, “He sat at the desk at the end.”
I paused, now curious where the conversation was going, before clarifying, “The desk at the end, by the shop entrance?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “what the heck was his name? You’d remember him for sure, he was the nicest guy.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. He was describing my desk. Half jokingly I said my own name.
“You mean Marty?”
His eyes widened and he nodded in agreement, “Yeah, Marty! I wonder how he’s doing?””
Just then the waiter gestured “Right this way sir.”
Unsure of how to answer my estranged coworker I just smirked and said, “Marty is great, I see him all the time.”
He seemed genuinely excited, “That’s fantastic. Say hi for me next time you see him. I always liked that guy!”
And with that my wife and I were off to our table.
I admit in the days that followed I probably spent too much time thinking about the somewhat odd interaction. How could someone I had worked with that closely not remember me? Should I be hurt?
Eventually one small part of the conversation jumped out at me:
“He was the nicest guy.”
Maya Angelou once said, ““people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
Someone I had worked beside every day for several years couldn’t remember my name, face, or much else about me really. But they thought of me as “the nicest guy”
I’m okay with that.
The Involved Husband 