Pragmatic Memory
One of the features of my mighty Zeb the Zubaru is a little note on the dials that points to the side of the car on which the fuel door resides. Which comes in very handy indeed your first few trips to the gas station, as you're still trying to remember if the gas tank really IS on that side of the car, or if you're projecting your memories of Yoshi the Yuppiemobile onto the darling Zeb.
Except I've had the car for 15 months now, and still have to look at the arrow every time I drive into a gas station. There might have been a couple of almost-accidents as I delayed pulling into the gas station to make sure I pulled in on the correct side of the pump.
This has been troubling me because a) I never had issues knowing which side Yoshi's gas tank was on (or any of my previous cars for that matter) and b) I've often been accused of having a good memory.
On contemplation I believe the accusers have been people whose names I have remembered in situations where others would not remember their name. I will admit that this is a gift of mine. It came in very handy at my immediate post-college job where we would have students study with us for a period of a few months - some would come in daily, and of course you remember their names, but some would come in only a few times, and I'd know their names too. That made for some good word of mouth.
Because now I openly project my crappy memory to my co-workers. We can have a conversation, while I am sitting at my desk, of the three tasks that I am supposed to do immediately after the conversation is over. But if you don't go back to your desk and send me an e-mail putting those three tasks in writing you may be waiting a very long time for those three tasks to happen.
So I've decided that I have pragmatic memory. It serves me well to remember people's names. When I have to I can remember what side of the car my gas tank is on, but if I've got a little reminder note why bother. And I prefer to get my to-do lists in writing because then there's much less likely to be a miscommunication.
Which is all well and good, but doesn't account for my memory for completely trivial facts like pop-culture trivia for pop culture I've never experienced. And the street address of the house I lived in from the ages of 4-7 (116 Mt. Whitney Way). So let's just conveniently forget this part of the equation, and I'll just dazzle you next time we meet with my ability to remember your name.
Except I've had the car for 15 months now, and still have to look at the arrow every time I drive into a gas station. There might have been a couple of almost-accidents as I delayed pulling into the gas station to make sure I pulled in on the correct side of the pump.
This has been troubling me because a) I never had issues knowing which side Yoshi's gas tank was on (or any of my previous cars for that matter) and b) I've often been accused of having a good memory.
On contemplation I believe the accusers have been people whose names I have remembered in situations where others would not remember their name. I will admit that this is a gift of mine. It came in very handy at my immediate post-college job where we would have students study with us for a period of a few months - some would come in daily, and of course you remember their names, but some would come in only a few times, and I'd know their names too. That made for some good word of mouth.
Because now I openly project my crappy memory to my co-workers. We can have a conversation, while I am sitting at my desk, of the three tasks that I am supposed to do immediately after the conversation is over. But if you don't go back to your desk and send me an e-mail putting those three tasks in writing you may be waiting a very long time for those three tasks to happen.
So I've decided that I have pragmatic memory. It serves me well to remember people's names. When I have to I can remember what side of the car my gas tank is on, but if I've got a little reminder note why bother. And I prefer to get my to-do lists in writing because then there's much less likely to be a miscommunication.
Which is all well and good, but doesn't account for my memory for completely trivial facts like pop-culture trivia for pop culture I've never experienced. And the street address of the house I lived in from the ages of 4-7 (116 Mt. Whitney Way). So let's just conveniently forget this part of the equation, and I'll just dazzle you next time we meet with my ability to remember your name.
posted by Swankette at 10:07 PM
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