When I was maybe 23, I was stopped by a guy around my age coming out of the IRT at 94th street.
"Is your name Megan?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, surprised.
"You bit me!" he said, accusingly.
(Turns out we went to preschool together. I apologized, and we parted amicably.)
"Is your name Megan?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, surprised.
"You bit me!" he said, accusingly.
(Turns out we went to preschool together. I apologized, and we parted amicably.)
Some necessary background: subway stop was 2 blocks from the preschool (and my parents' house); I apparently have always borne a strong resemblance to myself, because near strangers not-infrequently recognize me after decades of separation. But this is the most extreme example.)
Another example: once spent an evening walking around with a roommate's friend from his hometown. Said friend was really cruising on acid, though I blushingly admit I didn't realize this at the time.
Never saw the guy again after that night. 20 years later, I sit down next to a total stranger at a conference lunch and introduce myself.
"Megan ..." he says musingly. "I don't suppose you went to Penn, and were called Meg there?"
"Megan ..." he says musingly. "I don't suppose you went to Penn, and were called Meg there?"
