You should know me: Confessions of a forgotten woman

By Lynn Taylor Rick, Journal staff | Saturday, June 30, 2007

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It’s one of those moments so embarrassing, I can’t quite believe I’m admitting to it, but here it goes. 

About five years ago, I was towing our newborn daughter and her 3-year-old twin sisters out of a store when a woman approached us.

I immediately recognized her. Unfortunately, I recognized her as the lactation consultant who had been so helpful at the hospital. I launched into a discussion about sore nipples and milk supplies, talking at length about my lactation successes and failures.

About 15 minutes later, as I drove down the street, I realized with a shudder that the woman was not the lactation consultant, but a local librarian instead.

Suddenly, I understood that bewildered look on her face.

I contemplated leaving town. I thought of ways that I could avoid going to the library for the rest of my life. I considered having disfiguring plastic surgery. In the end, I just called the lady on the phone and apologized for telling her about my nipples.

I tell this story as a way of saying that I understand. Really, I do. I understand how easy it is to misidentify someone. I also understand how easy it is to fail to recognize someone altogether. That’s my problem, only in reverse.

In other words, no one recognizes me. Either that or they think I am fellow Journal reporter Heidi Bell Gease or Editorial Page Editor Mary Garrigan.

All three of us have somehow blended into one person.

The fact that we don’t look anything alike hasn’t deterred people from interchanging us on a regular basis. Of course, we have similarities. Yes, we are all women. Yes, we are all reporters at the Journal. We all have hair … and eyes … and arms.

I don’t know how many times I’ve have been complimented for Mary’s columns. Heidi has been complimented for my column. After an interview one time, the person asked Heidi about her husband, Mr. Rick. Just for the record, that’s my husband. 

It happens at work and it happens away from work. And when I’m not being mistaken for Heidi or Mary, I’m not being recognized at all. 

Years ago, I interviewed a local playwright. The next day, I saw the same gentleman in a local deli. When I smiled and waved across the room at him, he looked confused and glanced over his shoulder. He was looking to see who this strange person was waving at.

It’s only gotten worse from there. One woman I have interviewed for years sees me on the streets regularly and shows absolutely no recognition. Another guy who I once worked with looks me in the eye on frequent occasions and doesn’t know me. 

I admit, sometimes this comes in handy.

For instance, when I don’t have time to talk or I’m feeling particularly crabby, I don’t mind at all.

Sometimes, I re-introduce myself. More often, I do not. Quite frankly, it’s just too ego crushing to re-introduce yourself to the same person over and over.

When people mistakenly call me Heidi or Mary, I usually correct them and assure them that it happens all the time. But sometimes, I don’t even bother. I nod and say Heidi-like or Mary-like things. If I’m particularly crabby, however, I like to say things like, “Wow, you’ve really put on weight.”

I assume my identity issue is a problem a lot of people would love to have. Especially celebrities. To be able to move around unrecognized would be a blessing for them, I’m sure.

So, I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. And when I find myself getting annoyed by my incognito existence, I just try to remember that day not so long ago when an innocent librarian approached a haggard mother and got way too much information. Once I stop blushing, I’m usually not so annoyed anymore.

Lynn Taylor Rick is a Journal staff writer. Contact her at 394-8414 or lynn.taylorrick@rapidcityjournal.com.