Hergest Ridge

Yesterday, I’ve had a few people question and confuse my identity. It was kinda hilarious, but I suppose I’ll let you be the judge of that.

My first encounter of identity crisis came about at the store checkout counter, when I handed over my credit card to pay for some delicious eggs, chocolate cereal, and a Moothie (yummy). After observing the credit card practises of the vendor, I signed for my purchase as Simon B.

For anyone that doesn’t know me, my name is not Simon. I was handed back the CC as soon as it was swiped, and the clerk did not make the slightest attempt to look at the signature on it before handing it back to me. Never mind a side by side comparison. The sad reality is that very few vendors make the slightest effort to verify sigies.

If you are going to sign with a faux name, make sure you practice writing it at home first. It’s amazing how ‘automated’ the whole process is. Even though I knew I would be signing ‘Simon B.’, it was hard to fight the instinct I’ve developed over the years. Despite the three full stops - to think about the next letter - in the short sig, the clerk did nothing and I walked out of the store with the groceries.

Second identity crisis was thrust upon me at my front door. A knock came just as I was about to leave, and upon opening the door I was faced with two elections representatives responsible for putting together an eligible voter list. The very friendly lady introduced herself and her colleague whom stood a short way down the hallway. She then said something to the extent of “I don’t mean to be insulting, but are you old enough to vote?”

“Yes” - I replied.
“You sure?”
“I’ve been old enough to vote for the last 10 years. I can show you my drivers license if you wish.”
“No, no, that will not be necessary. You can just put your name on the list, and that’s all I’ll need.”

While I wrote my name on the list, along with the couple other mandatory details, we chatted about age, looking young, and such. I said I try to take it easy in life, which I attribute to looking younger than I am. Through direct experience, I also know that when you dye your hair - dark, dark auburn, again, Friday night -, people start thinking you’re a few years younger.

When I was done filling in the form, the silent colleague down the hallway asked his partner whom I was handing the form back to “Is he old enough?” I guess he didn’t hear our initial conversation. They both were super nice, and I didn’t feel insulted in the slightest. I did however find the episode very amusing.