Whoever you think I am, that's who I'm not
An invitation to you all to share any stories of mistaken identity – you know, any time you’ve been mistaken for someone else, or you’ve mistaken another person for someone they’re not... Here’s mine:
A couple of years ago when
spending the summer in New York, I rode the subway out to Broad
Channel, a small island in Jamaica Bay, Queens, to take some photographs. I found Broad
Channel pretty strange. It's a sleepy fishing town, with cute houses jutting out into the water and an atmosphere that couldn't be much more different from the hectic pace of New York City. In fact, it's kind of hard to believe that it's within the city limits.
There was barely anyone around, even though it was a Saturday, but then two smartly dressed elderly ladies appeared on the opposite side of the road. They were talking at a normal level but then one of them said really loudly, as if for me to hear (as the only other person in the street), “ISLANDS OF NEW YORK”. I didn’t know what to make of it, and thought I must be imagining it, why would she want me to hear that? But then as they crossed the street toward me, she said it again “ISLANDS OF NEW YORK!”. This time it was definitely directed towards me, but I had no idea what it meant. Was it some kind of anti-tourist slogan? Keep New York for New Yorkers? Were they going to strangle me with my camera strap and stuff the pages of my guidebook in my mouth?
By the time she shouted it a third time I realized I had to make some kind of response, but I had no idea what. Fortunately the lady’s saner friend bailed me out. She came up to me and asked me if I was the author of ‘Islands of New York’. I was relieved to find out what it was all about and regretfully told her I was not. But that didn’t satisfy the first lady who as she was led away by her friend kept saying furiously, “It’s definitely her…I recognize her from the back cover…”
I felt really guilty,
like I actually was the precious novelist who had no time for her loyal fans. I
guess I should have pretended I was and given them an autograph (an illegible
squiggle, of course, since I had no idea who I was). But I didn’t. When I got
home I looked it up on Amazon and Google and found nothing; the woman had
probably misremembered the title of the book. But I like to think it was some kind
of steamy romance set in Jamaica Bay…
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There was a time when I road buses often and seemed to have a strange allure for those bursting to speak with someone.
Every day, every route, I was planted next to a different person who insisted on telling me their life story. I'm shy and this made me very uncomfortable. I tried to use books or my MP3 player to display that I was other wise occupied and not up for a conversation. Unfortunately this was not enough and I didn't want to be so rude as to say flat out "Leave Me Alone!!"
So, I pretended to be deaf.
I have a working knowledge of ASL and whenever someone attempted to speak with me on the bus I would simply sign 'I don't understand" and give an apologetic smile. I got some yellers (what is it with the belief that those in the deaf community can hear you if you yell?) and one gentleman carried on a conversation with me in ASL (that I enjoyed very much). Overall my guise as a deaf individual did nothing to dissuade those desperate for someone to speak to. But the nature of what people said to me changed.
Instead of the gossipy, chit chatty conversations I used to be subjected to, people (as soon as I indicated that I could not understand them) would begin to speak to me like I was a confidant. Almost as if I was a priest in a confessional.
Moods altered from perky to meditative as they unloaded to me. All I did was smile, nod, and sign occasionally. I don't know why I kept up the act as it did nothing to guard me from unwanted interaction.
I couldn't help but wonder what is was that made them speak to me. Why did they need to talk with someone so badly, especially with someone who (as far as they knew) didn't catch a word of what they said. I reflected back to times when I had no one to confide in and I wondered if given the opportunity, would I speak to a deaf stranger, on a bus, just to relieve myself of my troubles?
After a few months I moved further into town, and everywhere that I needed to go was within easy bicycling distance. Since then I have never ridden the bus or encountered those who spent so much time speaking to me.
I was just thinking actually about how American Sign Language is a completely different language to British Sign Language. It seems so bizarre that there are separate and mutually unintelligible languages when we have a common spoken language...