I’m horrible with names. I’ve tried all the tricks but nothing seems to work. I pretty much have to meet you about half a dozen times before I call you by name – and then it’s probably because I ask a friend for help.
There was one exception, however.
Back when Carter was in the White House, I was traveling across country looking for a newspaper job. I was living in my car, driving from one town to another trying to land something – anything.
In Minneapolis, I arranged an interview, changed into my suit in the paper’s parking lot – this was in late November – and went in to chat up one of the editors.
I spoke with the woman for a while and finally she shrugged and said, “Well, we don’t have any openings and even if we did, I wouldn’t hire you because you’re not good enough to work for us.”
I’ve thought a lot about that comment over the years and I’ve finally decided what to do. I’m going to hunt that woman down in the after life and have a real come to Jesus talk with her.
Sure, it might be tough finding her but, hey, I’ve got a head start.
I remember her name.