What's-Her-Name

The spring sign-up for kindergarten was at 8 a.m. and I was determined to be the first person in line.  The previous year the line began to form on the day before at 4 p.m.  Figuring it would be best to shave a little off of last year's mark; I showed up with my lawn chair a day early at noon and was the only person there.  I had been recruited by Maria, daughter-in-law, to hold a place in line so my grandson would have a kindergarten to attend come winter.    However, as I was to discover later, being first in line doesn't guarantee a spot in the school.  Assuming there are any openings, the selection process involves a weighted scoring methodology for each applicant that in addition to your place in line takes into account many other factors – gender, ethnicity, location of residence, gang membership(s), arrest record, family income, etc.

 

I sat in my lawn chair wondering why the Old Testament, other than one male and one female, makes no mention of the criteria Noah used to select each twosome.  I suspect Noah let the animals sort it out for themselves since he had an ark to build.  Considering the consequences of not making the cut, I imagine what started out as a first-in-line approach soon evolved into first-in-line and still-alive.  Talk about naïve, I hadn't brought any weapons with me.

 

One thing that had me concerned about waiting in line was being parked for hours next to some insufferable idiot.  Soon after I settled in, an attractive thirty-something woman came along with a chair and sat down next to me.  As it turned out, I needn't have worried.  She was pleasant, intelligent, enjoyable to talk with and had a sense of humor – simply a wonderful person.  Thank God for what's-her-name.  Unfortunately my social skills are atrocious.  She had of course introduced herself when we met and for several seconds I clearly knew her name, but then as always, it quickly evaporated and was gone for good. 

 

Perhaps I fear less having to sit next to an insufferable idiot than I fear that they may have to sit next to me.  My forgetting someone's name is relatively harmless compared with the tendency I have to make unfortunate remarks.  With what's-her-name it took me less than twenty minutes to draw blood.

 

While we sat there talking a small private plane flew over low enough that the noise made it impossible for us to hear each other.  Small planes have always been a source of annoyance for me.  I started my rant, "Not a day goes by without at least one of these damn things crashing down on a home, a business or some poor bastard walking his dog.  What gives them the right to fly over our homes anyway?  It's illegal for drones, why is it okay for something that weighs a ton?  What is it that is so fucking important that people have to have their own plane?  Homeowners should band together and start shooting them down."

What's-her-name says, "I grew up with small planes."

I ask, "How so?"

What's-her-name says, "After my parents were divorced, I flew with my dad in his plane to his place and back every other weekend."

I ask, "How long did this go on?"

What's-her-name says, "I don't know, at least eight or nine years."

I ask, "And your mother was okay with this?"

What's-her-name says, "Why wouldn't she be?"

I said, "What does your mom do for a living, install lightning rods?"

 

I had done it again.  I never mean to offend anyone intentionally, but I somehow manage to consistently pick the worst possible subject to bring up.  With What's-her-name it was private planes, with someone else it could be animal sacrifices or hermaphrodites, no matter, I always manage to hit the bulls eye.

 

Thankfully, What's-her-name took it in stride and didn't seem bothered one bit.  Our conversation moved on to comparing notes on the various schools in northeast Los Angeles County that we had toured.  I had learned from my daughter-in-law just how challenging it can be to find a school that is suitable for your child.  What's-her-name had toured more schools than I yet she was impressed that I had gone with Maria to see so many. 

 

What's-her-name showed me on her iPad the series of spreadsheets that she had built to evaluate and document every conceivable piece of information related to each school she had toured.  I thought I was having one of those déjà vu moments before I realized this collection of excel documents was nearly identical to the batch my daughter-in-law developed and had been fine-tuning over for the last eighteen months. 

What's-her-name said, "I may have gone a little overboard but I've always been detail-oriented."

I said, "You suffer from the same disease as my daughter-in-law."

What's-her-name said, "If the authorities saw this they'd lock me up."

I said, "That's why Maria drags me along, I help camouflage her behavior." 

 

What's-her-name and I got to talking about the names that parents give their kids, then my grandson's name, and finally her children's names which I immediately forgot.  While we were discussing names she told me she worked as a nurse in the delivery room at Saint Joseph Medical Center in Burbank.  Earlier that week on Monday, a healthy baby boy had been born and his family used their own unique tradition for giving him a first name.  Their first child had named the second child; the second had named the third; and on Monday it had been the third child's responsibility to name the fourth.  The third child was a boy not yet four years old.  He took this seriously and had thought about it for many weeks before he came to a decision.  The first name on the birth certificate read: T-Rex.

Finally, a name even I could remember.