In Colorado before Pesach, I traveled around to contacts of the Shliach, delivering matzah and such.
One man I visited was in his nineties.
"And what's your name?" he asked.
"No, Yossi!" I said, louder.
"Yaffee?" he asked, "How do you spell that?"
I sighed, and allowed him, "Any way you want."
At a doctor's office here at home, an assistant met me first in the room, before the doctor.
"Hi, we've met when you were here before," she told me.
"Oh. When was the last time I was here?"
"Let's see... last April. So it's been a year."
"I'm sorry, but I don't remember meeting you," I told her.
"Well, I didn't see you then," she said, flipping through her notes, "but I did see you in 2007 when you were here."
That was four years ago!
"Wow. I only have a few doctors that I should remember meeting, and you've got many patients," I said, embarrassed I had no recollection of talking to this PA.
"Yeah, we get about 30 patients a day."
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