My Name Is Not Bruce

I spend three hours a week at the local YMCA. Almost always, I see the security guard who is making his rounds. Once, when I came out after exercising, I headed for my car, and it wasn’t there. After double-checking, I reported to the guard that my automobile was missing. He calmly suggested that I check out the other side of the parking lot. What a wise suggestion! He found my lost car. Recently, when I left the gym, he spoke and called me Bruce. I corrected his mistake and learned that his name is Mike. Several visits later, he tried to remember that my name was Tom but failed to come up with it. I suggested he remember me as “Tom Thumb.” Last week, when I exited the Y, I spotted Mike and I spoke to him by name. I could tell he was searching his memory for my name, which did not come to mind right away. As I approached my car, I heard Mike shout: “Tom! I used to call you Bruce.” I think I’ve made a friend.


About bobosbest

I am an 80-year-old retired English teacher whose writing goals are fulfilled by publishing these blogs. I have a wonderful married partner, Dimitris Tsitsiras, who is from Greece. Life is good and still an adventure.
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