Take last week at work for example. At 9:30 Friday morning A., our contract administrator, came into my office and scolded me because even with the email reminder she’d sent the day before, I’d still managed to forget about submitting my timesheet on the last day of the month. I’d remembered to fill it out and everything else, but the actual submitting part had completely slipped my mind.
To make matters worse, just moments before A. walked in, my officemate Y. had solemnly pronounced that “Guys don’t remember anything.”
She was right of course. We don’t! And it’s not just birthdays and anniversaries either. We can only remember so many things, and then something’s going to be forgotten, not because we think it was unimportant, but because we ran out of room for it.
One of the items on my TODO items for Monday was to make a phone call to someone out in Michigan. The timing was such that I thought I might end up talking to a machine, so I was ready. The machine picked up and after the tone I started talking, “Hi A.G., this is Blair and I’m calling to follow up on a conversation we had a little while back. Sorry I missed you, but my phone number is 240-6… Oh God, I’ve forgotten my own phone number!”
The truth of the matter is that I didn’t forget the number, I knew all the digits. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what order they belonged in! And since this was a cell phone, there wasn’t even a helpful little sticker for me to look at. But after pausing to collect my thoughts, I managed to explain why I was calling, left my number and hung up.
When A.G. checks her answering machine, she’s in for a good laugh. And I’m certain the one after that will only set her off again. “Hi A.G., it’s Blair again. That number I left you was wrong…” I’m sure she’ll find it entertaining.
Of course, AG, Y, and A. are all women, so they can’t understand what’s going on from the guy perspective. Forgetting things is completely necessary in order for guys to survive. The truth of the matter is, if we remembered even half the stupid things we’ve done, we’d die of embarrassment. And where would that leave the women? They’d be left with a world full of absent-minded males who not only don’t remember, but aren’t even bright enough to realize that they should be embarrassed about it.
This has of course already happened.
Fortunately, I’m a guy. A couple days from now, I’ll have forgotten all about this.

The interviews were one of the most difficult parts of my recent job search. Not just the process of being interviewed, but actually getting away from the old job without raising suspicions that I was out looking.
The dress code at the old job was “business casual”, but as I’ve discovered over time, the definition of “business casual” tends to be rather variable. In the case of my former employer, it included jeans. As nice as it was to dress that way, in the event I ever decided to leave, it would have raised suspicions if I’d suddenly started showing up in interview clothes.
Part of the solution was camouflage. A few years ago, long before I began actively searching for a new position, I started showing up in “spiffy clothes” on occasion. Predictably, everyone reacted by asking me if I had an interview and I alternated between explaining it was laundry day or that I had a date that evening. (Through careful planning on my part, these answers had the advantage of being true. And when circumstances were reversed and other people showed up in dress clothes, I asked them the same question.) Before long, my co-workers became accustomed to seeing me dressed up on occasion.
But dress slacks and nice shirts only go so far as camouflage. Interviews call for a dress shirt, jacket, and the dreaded necktie. Wearing any of those to the office would have been a dead giveaway. So I pulled a Clark Kent.
There was a little park down the road from my old office. I hardly ever saw anyone there, so on my way to interviews, I’d pull in there to change into my interview clothes. I’d pull in, grab my shirt, tie, and jacket out of the trunk and quick as Clark Kent changing into Superman, I’d transform into Man-going-to-an-Interview.
Obviously the superhero routine worked because I only had to do the quick change a few times. After that, I took on a new role: Man-with-a-new-Job