My current supervisor is fixated on finding the celebrity look-alike of every person he meets. As I went around with him the first day, the series of introductions included mention of each person's celebrity twin. "This is John, aka Rodney Dangerfield. And this is Beth, aka Kelly Ripa. " He was frustrated with being unable to place my face amidst his brain roledex of famous faces. It took a week, then, of course, in the midst of a serious meeting, he blurted out, in triumph, "Natalie Merchant!"
"How funny," I replied. "We share a birthday actually."
"No, she's a few years older."
(But then, later when I googled her and saw that she was born in 1963, I wondered if I just looked older . . . if that was part of the resemblance. He thought I could be 47 years old?).
The person with whom I work most closely this week, who oriented me to the place, who arranges my assignments, was explaining her role to someone. " . . . and I sort of get to boss M around, even though she's probably way older than me."
"Oh, yeah. Definitely older."
Today, walking back from lunch, towards the same office, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but was looking for an excuse to make the little walk outdoors last longer, so I answered. It was a volunteer calling to make sure I planned on voting. We chatted a moment or two. For some reason, she established that I was not a student. Then, she paused, and asked, "Wait, are you old enough to vote?"