In My Defense #1: Forgetting People's Names

A new series in which I offer formal defenses of my perceived errors.

So, it has become abundantly clear that I have forgotten your name. Moments ago, I introduced myself to you with a warm smile and the hand of friendship and your response was chilly, if not outwardly hostile. “We’ve actually met before - at David’s birthday party” you said, your smile fading into a grim line, your eyes burning with righteous judgement. “Oh right!” I responded, “Sorry, I just never assume that someone has remembered me and I know some people are bad with names!” Then I smiled and mentally patted myself on the back for handling yet another social interaction with grace and good humor.

But strangely I am still feeling judged by you, so here is my formal defense.

In my defense, my brain was never meant to hear so many names, much less remember them. I know far too many people and there is only so much available real estate in my mind palace. I’m at capacity. At this point I must actively forget someone’s existence should I wish to remember the name of someone new. Do you truly believe that the thirty seconds we spent together at David’s birthday party is worth me forgetting the name of my sixth grade Spanish teacher, Mrs. Gonzalez? The woman who taught me how to conjugate the formal usted? Sorry, but that doesn’t sit right with me.

Furthermore, I ask the honorable jury to remember that though the human brain is ever evolving, it is also ancient. My brain was built to remember the names of my 50 - 100 Paleolithic tribe members, no more. It was never meant to follow over a thousand people on instagram and yet, it does just that. When you think of it that way, the fact that I can remember over 1000 names is nothing short of a modern miracle. One might even say that I’m actually good at remembering names!

So maybe it’s actually you who owe me an apology. After all, my ancient tribe mates would never have taken such a tone with me. “Hi Gronk! Hi Yorb!” I would call out, gathering my berries and twirling my hair. Yorb, the cute one, would then pull his bloodied harpoon out of the elk’s carcass and say to Gronk, “I can’t believe she remembered my name!” Later that night, we’d make love underneath the tree canopy and all would be right in the world. But I would never make love to you on the soft forest ground, not after the scene you made tonight.

I rest my case.