I know you! I do!

This post of Mara inspired me to write this post of mine.

You know the occasions when you see someone you definitely know, but can’t for the life of you remember where from or what of. Do you know her from a shop you regularly visit? She could be the girl from the checkout counter at your local supermarket. He could be the guy who delivers your mail. Sometimes you just don’t recognize people when they are not in-situ or out of context (which is the same thing; just thought I’d baffle you with my knowledge). It happens to the best of us.

One evening hubs and I were shopping in IKEA (and proud of it! Not like someone I know who ‘only browses’. Uhuh.) and we saw a woman we both recognized. Spent the whole time in IKEA wondering who she was. “What do you think of this lamp? Perhaps she works in a shop we regularly visit?”
“I like that one. She’s not our Aldi checkout girl. I’m pretty sure of that.”
“We could also buy this one or she works in that restaurant we’ve been to a couple of times.”
You know how these things can take over. You just WANT TO KNOW!

Anyway, in the car on our way home I suddenly realized we had seen her once in one of those reality shows you don’t ever want to see again. Poor girl. Hoping to get famous, but only having people wondering if you are the Aldi checkout girl. Although, we díd recognize her. Missed opportunity for us to start our autograph collection of people who haven’t made it in showbiz. Ah well…

But the funniest ‘I knów you’ experience I had was at Heathrow Airport. I had booked a holiday (yes, I did! Hubs looked after the furry bunch and we didn’t have the horses at home yet, which made it easier for me to go away) to do a summer course in Art History at Oxford University, organized by a Dutch company. Flights were included and at Schiphol Airport (in Amsterdam) I met some of my fellow ‘students’. One of them was a woman with a very angry look on her face. “Oh I dó hope I’m not sitting next to her in the airplane”, I thought. And yes, you’ve guessed it, I was allocated the chair next to her in the airplane. We exchanged short nods. She already had a book in her hands, a clear sign that she didn’t want to engage in any conversation, which was fine by me. So I took my book out of my bag and sat down to read. It took some time before the plane actually moved and then it started taxiing. And taxiing. And taxiing some more. It made me giggle and I said sort of out loud to myself: “If we keep taxiing like this, we’ll be taxiing into the North Sea. In which case, I’d rather take the ferry.”

I heard a soft snigger coming from the chair next to me. “My thoughts exactly”, angry woman said.
But then the plane finally came to a standstill and the engines started growling, ready for take-off. And there we went, óver the water in stead of through it. A great relief.
Angry woman and I had already turned our attention to our books again, without having exchanged another word.

Suddenly she closed her book, turned towards me and said: “Do you have dogs?”

Now, you can imagine that I hadn’t expected that question. Did I have a doglike smell about me? Why would she suddenly ask if I had dogs?
”Three”, I said to have a good excuse ready in case she had noticed a certain waft. I hadn’t noticed one myself, but then again, would I?
“Why do you ask?”
”We’re getting a puppy when I return from Oxford and we haven’t thought of a name for him yet. What are your dogs called?”
”Phew, I thought you’d noticed a certain Eau de Chien about me”, I laughed. But she assured me that wasn’t the case.
“Marjolein”, she said. “Carolina”, I answered. And with these formalities out of the way I told her the name of our only male dog Biggles. “Hmm, Biggles. Yes. I like that. Wait!”, and she got her phone out and texted Biggles to her home front (this was shortly after you were allowed to use a mobile phone in an airplane). Immediately she got a message back. “Not approved”, she said. “Any other names?”
So I mentioned all the male dog names that sprung to mind and she kept texting home, getting messages back like: “who thought of that?” and “that’s just silly” or “definite NO”. Which made the short flight to London very hilarious. She wasn’t so bad after all. Not every first impression is the right one.

Because they had captured a couple of terrorist suspects a couple of days earlier at Glasgow Airport, our plane had to wait somewhere on the edge of the airport until a coach came to pick us up and bring us to the terminal (don’t ask me why this made things safer). We were told we should stay seated until the coach had arrived. But of course there are always individuals who don’t understand what’s going on so people kept standing up to get their bags out of the hand-luggage compartments and moving to the front of the plane, where the exit stayed firmly closed. Poor airhostesses kept telling them to please return to their seats, because they couldn’t get out of the plane anyway. It turned into sort of a Chinese plates act for the stewardesses. As soon as someone sat down again, another one stood up, and then another one and the poor girls kept running to and from people, trying to stay polite and explaining the same thing over and over again. Some people just kept trying to move towards the exit over and over again, which gave Marjolein and me a bad case of the giggles. “Look, he’s going for it again. He definitely wants to get out of here. And yes… he’s off….”, we whispered live comments.

After about half an hour the coach came and we all could finally leave the plane and get into the coach to be driven to the terminal.
The terminal was one big mess, with big piles of suitcases, some half open with clothes hanging out, scattered all over the place. It didn’t give us much hope and we had to wait a long time for our luggage to arrive on the conveyer belt, but fortunately both my bag and Marjolein’s suitcase were there. Other people from our group were not so lucky, so again we had to wait a long time until all the formalities involved with lost luggage were dealt with.

While we were waiting, I noticed a man standing next to the conveyer belt closest to where Marjolein and I were sitting, obviously waiting for his luggage to appear. And I definitely knéw that man. But wherefrom? “I recognize that guy from somewhere”, I said to Marjolein. “I’m certain I’ve seen him on television, but he’s not an actor. Who ís he?”
Marjolein took a good look. “You’re right. I know him too. Haven’t a clue who he is though.”
”I’m sure it’s a Jan. Jan something.”
”Isn’t it a Piet?”, Marjolein giggled. “He could be a Tom too. He looks like a Tom.”
”No no, I’m sure it’s Jan. He could be one of those experts who appear in the news when something has happened that needs more explanation. I’m sure I know him from television, but he does not make regular appearances.” And we couldn’t for the life of us remember who this man was. Very annoying. But also a good way to make time go a little faster.

Then his suitcases appeared and he got ready to leave the airport. “But we don’t know who he is yet!”, we panicked. And Marjolein did the best thing. She got up, walked towards the man (he was quite a big man, about a head taller than she), positioned herself right in front of him, pointed her finger in his chest and said: “Who áre you?”

I tell you, I was in stitches. I wasn’t able to sit upright anymore, hanging down the chair, tears running down my cheeks, snorting… you get the picture.

I couldn’t overhear their conversation, but finally Marjolein let the guy go on his merry way and returned to our seats.
“Well?”, I sniffed. “Who is it?”
”I think I baffled him”, she giggled.
”Yeah, but did he tell you who he is?”
”You were right! It’s a Jan. It’s Jan Timman!”, deservedly proud to have solved our ‘I know him’ problem.

These clips from a Billy Connolly performance are hilarious. Please take the time to watch them both if you can. Just ignore all the ‘fucks’ if that offends you. The story he tells is really funny and relevant to the story above. And I’m quite sure the story took place at a ChriStmas Dinner.

Okay, so if that made you laugh, here’s the second part…

Oh, I do love Billy Connolly. I’d recognize him instantly. Anywhere!