I know Everyone...or they know me

I have to admit, I have travelled a bit and know quite a few people. It also seems like I have a face that everyone recognizes, whether they actually know me or not. My wife is resigned to the fact that whenever we go out, I always run into someone I know. It doesn't matter if it's the shopping mall, the theatre, the dog park, the dump, anywhere, I will end up talking to somebody. My kids are convinced that I know everyone in the world. Okay, maybe not everyone, but at least someone on every continent. They complain that it always takes twice as long to do anything when we go out because I always end up meeting someone and chatting for a few minutes.

Here's a for instance. During our first week in Cochrane, I had to run up to the store to get more milk and I threw the kids in the car to keep them out of my darling wife's hair.

I was just exiting as an old classmate was heading in. We hadn't seen each other since graduation so we took a few minutes to catch up, swapping parenting stories and the like. I was doing my best to ignore the horn honking from the parking lot, having a sneaking suspicion of the origin. I also did not want to go back and continue unpacking the three thousand, four hundred and fifty seven boxes still in the living room. As I returned to the car, the kids were rolling their eyes and saying "What took you so long? We've been honking for EVER". Don't you wish there were locking carseats for 12-year olds?

It's not always my fault. While we were still dating, my wife and I were at a pub in Canmore. There was a singing duo on the small stage taking requests. We kept asking for some of our favourites and of course, kept stumping the singers. No, we weren't asking for Viking drinking songs or Argentinean ballads, either.

At the break, the duo came over and sat with us, to apologise for not having the songs in their repertoire. During the conversation, the keyboard player said, "By the way, didn't I see you in Toronto last week?"

"Noooo, I don't think so", I reply, not having been East for years.

"I'm sure I saw you - you were in that band in that bar just off Yonge Street." He says.

"Was I any good?"

"Yeah, you were great!"

"Yeah, sure, that was me". Might as well go with the flow.

I am pretty sure any application to CSIS won't be approved - the recruiters probably think they know me. Spies are supposed to be anonymous…

  

When we were first married, I got a job with the Federal Government as a Flight Service Specialist. Flight Service Specialists work at small and remote airports, helping pilots get around and on their way. Kind of like Air Traffic Controllers, only with less pay and more responsibility.

Now, neither my wife or myself had ever been north of Edmonton in our lives. Our first posting was in Dawson City, Yukon Territory. A town of 1500 residents about 100 miles south of the Arctic Circle. We were less than two hours off the plane and my new boss was taking us to our hotel when, as we are heading up the front steps of the hotel, a voice shouts out behind me "Dave Couch!? I can't believe it!". As I turn around, a cute blond lady launches herself into my arms and plants a kiss or three in rapid succession. This garnered an impressed but slightly confused look from my new boss and a slightly less impressed look from my new bride. Maybe a lot less impressed look from my new bride. Anyway, it turns out a high school classmate had married and she and her husband had moved to Dawson City three years prior. I still have the recollection that it took three years to try to explain that to my wife.

Oh, there's the doorbell. (No chance of the kids answering; they are just shouting that someone is at the door.) I am getting some beef from a local rancher northwest of town that someone recommended and that's him delivering it. Wait just a second. It's Pat! Man, I haven't seen him since high school! What a coincidence - I have to go catch up with him. See you next time!