What's My Line?

There was an old game show with panelists who tried to guess what the contestant's line of work was.

Each panelist would ask a "yes" or "no" question, and the contestant would simply sit there and answer accordingly.

The show came to mind this morning because I was thinking of how we all get boiled down into digestible bite size brain bytes.

Consider how you imagine the people in your life. As a child, you assume your parents are like everyone else's parents. It's not until you get older (sometimes much older) before you see them as complex human beings, shaped by their past experiences.

In truth, we're all a mixed bag. Yet we are compelled to take the people we meet and slot them according to our preconceived notions. This is fine, as long as we remove them from the slot as we take the time to get to know them.

In high school, I was the quiet, smart kid. I know this is how I was perceived because these words appear multiple times in my yearbook. They were written by the people who didn't know me all that well, fellow classmates who could only base their opinion on the three seconds it took to slot me.

On the other hand, I've been at the same place of employment for well over 20 years. I know how I'm perceived based on the way people introduce me. In addition to my title, I have been called the Queen of Compliance. Which I am. But it's so one dimensional, so dull. Just once, I'd like to be called the Wizard of Wit. Or at least be given props for something other than my keen eye for disclaimers and legal text.

If this sounds a bit whiny, I agree. And in the grand scheme of things, I guess my life would be considered pretty dull. But I'm okay with it. I've gotten to know a lot of fascinating people who would have been slotted as ordinary. But scratch the surface, and be amazed.

Like my friend, Rose, who works with me at the cat shelter. She has rescued many dozens of cats. She's gone into crummy neighborhoods to do this, plus she has 10 cats of her own at home. She cleans cat shelters by day, then goes home and cleans up after her own brood. She looks like a grandma. She's quiet. But she's full of surprises. She told me last week that she still has her Halloween decorations up because it's her favorite holiday, and she has a Jason mask that makes scary noises.

My husband, in his youth, worked with an older gentleman at a carpet store. He struck up a conversation with him after he saw the numbers tattooed on the man's arm. The gentleman didn't say much, just remarked that he had been in a Jewish prison camp.

We're not stick figures. Everyone has a story.

Sometimes, you just have to ask.