The First Time I Watched Jaws

There are some movies that are burned into your psyche forever. The first movie that affected me was "Where the Red Ferns Grows." I was four and the part where the boy falls on an axe and dies sent me into a waterfall of tears. I went upstairs with my mom following me. She asked me why I was crying and all I could come up with was that death made me sad.

My parents tried to be courteous of my sensitivity from that point forward. My dad was so courteous that when I was nine and he wanted to watch Braveheart on TV in our  living room, he locked the door after I went outside to play. He was even so gracious as to refuse to let me in when I was pounding on the door and yelling, "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!!!"
I heard a muffled, "Just wait a few minutes!" through the front door. I suspect that he had fallen asleep as per the norm.

A year later, "The Patriot" was on TV and my parents were watching it in the living room at night when I was supposed to be asleep. I couldn't sleep though, so I came downstairs to see what they were up to and as soon as I rounded the wall, Heath Ledger's character got shot in the face. I turned right around and went back upstairs.

When I was eleven, my parents thought that I had outgrown my movie sensitivity. They regretted that assumption later.
We watched Jaws as a family one night. I was a little scared, but it was more of that "fun" scared feeling rather than like sheer terror. That is until I had to take a shower the next day.

I was legitimately terrified that a full-grown shark was going to be able to come up through the 3-inch drain pipe into my shower and kill me dead. The solution to this problem? If my mom was in the room at the same time, that would prevent any blood-thirsty sharks from coming into my tub. The shark would move on to the next kid who naively took a shower without a parent in the same room. Rookies.

My mom humored my irrational fear and whenever I would shout, "MOM! I have to take a shower!!" she would sigh, grab a magazine and come upstairs.

My sister also had an illogical lavatory fear. At six years old, she was afraid that when she flushed, some monster was going to be able to emerge from the plumbing depths and get her. So, naturally, to prevent this from happening she would close the lid, stand on top of it, flush, and stand there until it wasn't making noises anymore. Then she would bend her little strawberry blonde head down to peek through the little crack between the seat and toilet and make sure the coast was clear before getting down to wash her hands.

My hygienic shenanigan went on for a couple weeks until my mom made me take a shower without her in the room. Any time I heard a gurgling sound coming from the pipe I would hold very still and get ready to hop over the little wall of the tub. Then I would slowly resume washing my hair while holding very still. By some miracle, I survived (my mental absurdities, not a shark attack) and I have turned out to be a semi-rational human being.

I remember you, but you don't remember me

Blog reader,

You may have noticed that I have an affinity for the Myers-Briggs personality test. I explain some of my absurdities with my INFJ personality type. If you are sick of this, too bad, I am going to do it again.

One characteristic of an INFJ is to notice EVVVVERRRYYTHING about the people around them. And remember it.

That bored look you gave the person you were talking to? I noticed it.
That flirtatious witty banter between you and the Sunday School teacher? I made a note and I won't be surprised when you start dating later.
That time I met your dog? I'll remember her name and breed and age.

Yes, it is weird. I have gotten many strange looks from people because I remember that it is their dad's birthday and that Hitler was born on the same day which also happens to be National Weed Day.

If you have been a victim of my people memory, I apologize. You can call those asbestos people if you want to try to get some sort of compensation.

They seem really eager to sue others for you. Just don't ask me how to get to their office because my directions memory is non-existent. 

My uncanny ability to blurb out very specific facts about people increases in already awkward conversations. If I don't know what to talk about, the more likely I am to spout off some question like:

 "How is your Aunt Mabel doing? She went into surgery last Tuesday right?" 

And you will answer with, "How do you know I have an Aunt Mabel?" 

I will try to brush it off by saying, "Ohhh, you know, everyone has an Aunt Mabel."  

When that doesn't work, I will deflect by saying "Look! I found a website all about Jasmine Cephas Jones from Hamilton!" And you will still give me a weird look and then walk away while I get distracted by trying to infer things about her relationship with Anthony Ramos because they are so dang cute but private, which I respect. See below.

I went into the plasma center a few months ago and met a new screener man. As he was sticking my finger, getting my protein count and making sure I hadn't shot up heroin in the recent past, I started to ask him questions about himself as is my mode of operation. 

We had a fairly sanitary conversation (he used an alcohol swab on my finger and we stuck to boring topics). He told me he was planning on going up to Ogden that week to visit his parents.

When I went back the next week to donate plasma (I WAS POOR OK?) I happened to get the same screener guy. As he was sticking my finger again, I casually asked "How was visiting Ogden?"

He continued to squeeze my finger as I was internally cringing and thinking "pleeeaaaasseee don't register how weird it is that I remembered that."

He didn't even look up and answered that it was good to see his parents and family. Just as I was about to let my breath out in relief, he slowly looked up at me and squinted his eyes like he had just remembered that a total stranger was sitting in front of him. Which is exactly what he had just remembered.

I can only be thankful that I hadn't called him by name, referenced his major or talked about what he likes to do for fun. 

When I have a moment like this, I try to make it less weird by explaining that I can list off all 6 of Angelina Jolie's kids. It works sometimes.

So, if I ask you "What's your name again?" know that I am just pretending for all of our sakes.

And if you are thinking that this somehow helps me in school, it doesn't, so no need to be jealous of my sweet skills. 

I never saw that screener guy again. Whenever I think of Ogden though, my finger will throb in memory and I will be secure in the knowledge that if I ever do see him again, he probably won't know me from Aunt Mabel.