If I'm not Me, who is??

Some time ago in this column I mentioned that I had ‘Googled’ my own name and discovered that there are several other ‘Me’s’ around the world doing wonderful and interesting things (unlike Me Me who leads a pathetically boring existence whereby no one would probably ever bother Googling Me).

Well anyway, they were a many and varied bunch, those other Me’s — from a champion bridge player to a mathematician (I can’t tell you how ironic THAT is, but I’ll bet my Form 2 maths teacher would have a giggle).

But anyhoo, I thought the matter of alternate Me’s had finally been laid to rest until recently I was out of town on a shopping trip and intending to meet a friend for drinks afterwards.

Wandering around a large department store, I was busily examining dog toys (as you do when you're a tragic dog owner) when suddenly over the loudspeaker I heard my name being called!

What the??? I thought. Why would they be calling me to the Service Desk? Had I dropped my purse? Had my friend arrived early and was she looking for me? Had she never heard of mobile phones? Did I even have mine switched on? How did she know I was there in the first place? Was I late for drinks? Is there really a God? If so, does he do crossword puzzles? If so, does he ever get them wrong (being omnipotent and all)?

All of these thoughts whirred swiftly through my head upon hearing my name being summoned nasily. (Okay, I admit I didn’t really think about God and the crosswords but it’s something I have wondered about occasionally).

Anyway, I was about to hurry over to the Service Desk and announce myself when it suddenly occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t the only Me in the store. I furtively glanced in the direction of the Service Desk to see if there was anyone looking expectantly for a Me, but all was quiet and no one seemed to be frantically in search of anyone. I decided that perhaps I had misheard the name, so went back to my doggie shopping and eventually prepared to leave the store.

However, on my way through the checkout, curiosity got the better of me so I asked the cashier if there was, indeed, someone bearing my moniker who worked at the store. She glanced at the name on my credit card and smiled.

“Yeah, she works here! Would you like to meet her?”

“Is she tall, slim and gorgeous?” I wanted to ask, hoping that at least one Me in the world had fared well in the fab looks department.

Instead I said; “I’d like to meet her ….. but I’m afraid she might flatten me.”

Why? Because I had suddenly remembered that this alternate Me may have had to contend with some flack about Me Me and my (infamous?) Kitchen Philosopher column. It had never occurred to me that someone else might be being blamed for all the craziness.

The cashier eyed me in bewilderment as I quickly gathered up my goodies and made a hasty retreat.

“Give her my regards!” I called over my shoulder. “Oh, and tell her sorry!”

“What for?” called the cashier.

“If she reads the local rag, she probably already knows!”