It’s a pretty common daydream/fantasy, I think, to imagine that you’re a secret celebrity, that you’re being watched and admired when you don’t realize it. To imagine that people *notice* you, just for being you. That people miss you when you’re absent.
Here’s the thing – and I know this is gonna come out wrong but I don’t know of another way to say it – I think I really AM.
At least, I may be on my morning commute.
(Keep in mind, I’ve been riding the 8:20 train, getting on at the Delmar stop and getting off at 8th and Pine, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year, for about a year and a half now.)
Argument the first:
About three or four weeks ago I got on the train and in the process of sitting down I accidentally nudged my seatmate with the container of muffins I was carrying. “Oops! Sorry!” I said. “It’s all right,” she replied, “I just looked up and saw you and thought ‘Oh! The knitter!‘.”
(Apparently I am The Knitter)
Argument the second:
YESTERDAY MORNING I was running late. I made my train, but just barely! I was at the back of the second car, rather than my favored location at the middle of the first car. Got off the train at my usual stop, and started the walk to my office. I was walking alongside a guy, who said “You’re running late today!” “Umm..yep.” was my oh-so-witty reply. “Usually you’re way up there ahead of me! Did you ever finish that thing you were knitting?” he asked.
(Apparently I am The Knitter, and they notice my routines)
Argument the third:
Several months ago I was standing at the Delmar stop, waiting for the train. A woman came up to me – one with whom I’d exchanged pleasantries with occasionally – and said “You weren’t here yesterday!” I told her I’d been home, sick. “Well,” she said, “This is my last day riding this train. I’m moving this weekend. And I just wanted to give you these.” She handed me a plastic bag *full* of knitting needles. “I’m cleaning out my mom’s house,” she told me. “Mom used to knit but can’t anymore, so I thought you might use them.”
(Apparently I am The Knitter, people notice my routines, and are inherently kind and generous and thoughtful)
In conclusion – and yeah I was right, this is coming out wrong – I think people SEE ME. And for whatever reason (my ravishing beauty, perhaps? The copper-colored hair? The OMNIPRESENT KNITTING NEEDLES AND SOCK?) they notice me.
That’s kinda cool. I like being a secret, G-list St. Louis celeb. At least, among the commuters on the 8:20 and 5:34 Lambert trains.