I took a nostalgic lap around its underground mall. Boy does everyone look good down there, in that loose procession of well-mannered professionals.
When I was coming up on a street level-bound escalator, I saw one of my old company’s security guards soberly pacing back and forth, patrolling his heart out. Very lieutenant-esque, with the hat and everything. I called out to him by name, and when he spun around he looked as though if he had a gun he would have shot it. I asked if he remembers me. He doesn’t.
We’ve been separated for 5.5 years, but he and I always got on famously. The only even remotely unpleasant memory I have of him is from when a friend once swung by to pick me up for lunch. She wore a short, low-cut sundress and he treated her standoffishly, with the attitude that she wasn’t professionally presentable enough to proceed through the gates or be in his presence. Now he was giving me the same business. I would have loved to catch up, but I guess there was nothing to talk about.
It’s more typically the random people from my past who I absolutely do not want remembering me who unfailingly (and unquietly) do.