He remembered me!

I had dinner at Lawrie's with K and Jon (Lawrie's very cute British friend) on Saturday night. As I rushed into her building, late per usual, set of saucepans from KMart in tow--I asked if she needed anything and she asked for the pots she could create dinner in, strange, right?--her doorman ushered me with a friendly hello as he insisted on notifying her of my arrival, josh as I did with him on my imposing physique. She paid me back, but I was expecting for a wine bottle ask. This was unexpected and quirky.

Lawrie made a delicious spread--mini burgers, pork, sirloin and filet mignon, a veggie medley, and sole stuffed with crabmeat we were too stuffed to enjoy. She's my kind of hostess--insists on cleaning up after you and serving you! Over dinner we split three bottles of red, then two bottles of dessert wine over dessert. She is a Duckwalk Wines lover, as K and I have become from our summer at the Hamptons.

The point of this post isn't my delightful evening at Lawrie's dinner party: the point is the doorman reappeared at Bruno's Bakery. I took Jim, my very first gay boyfriend from high school, for coffee and treats after our air kisses off the 14th St. stop. I hadn't seen Jim since our 5-year high school reunion, save the time he called upon me to avail himself of my shower when he was auditioning for American Idol last Fall. I didn't recognize the doorman, but he remembered me. Jim marveled at my ability to leave an impression as the gentleman kept gawking at me and provided the most attentive service one could without blatantly eavesdropping.

I felt guilty for not recognizing him. I hate people who forget me, even if our meeting was once and brief, and I pride myself on remembering faces no matter how fleeting...but here was a guy I had completely overlooked, arguably given his station--at the door, then behind the counter--I was appalled. I hate being faced with my hypocrisy. Not that I wasn't touched by his recollection of me, but I want to write off forgetting him as result of being rushed (I was an hour late to Lawrie's dinner) and I know I will definitely recognize him the next time I see him...but I still don't know his name. It never occurred to me to ask him; I suppose he could have asked me, but I feel like I should have made the effort.

For a big city, New York has a way of feeling very small.