Recently I spent a day working in an unfamiliar part of our building. A young guy came in and asked if I had seen somebody he was looking for. I explained I didn’t know anybody in that area, but asked what the guy looked like. The young guy’s face brightened and he said, “Oh, he looks like Moby!….The musician!”
I told him I hadn’t seen anybody who looked like Moby and he thanked me and left. That’s when I started analyzing our exchange. (That’s what we quiet, introspective types do. We think about talking way more than we talk about what we’re thinking).
The first thing I wondered was whether this Moby character was actually the person I was picturing in my mind. I’m pretty sure I know what he looks like but frankly don’t care enough to look him up online even now. I enjoy a little mystery and intrigue in my life.
I concluded that I probably did in fact know this Moby of whom he spoke, and congratulated myself on coming across as “hip” enough to the young guy that he assumed I would.
Then I reconsidered the pregnant pause when he said, “Moby…the musician.” The guy did not think I was hip enough to know who Moby is. That’s why he added the bit about the musician. During the pause he was thinking, “Ah, jeez. This middle-aged guy is going to think I’m saying some guy looks like a whale.”
So while I am not and never expect to be “hip,” at least I got to know what it felt like for a moment, even if by mistake.