Commentary: The cutlery caper

I heard a muffled clang when I climbed into my car last week and casually tossed what was in my hand onto the passenger seat. What the …? I'd walked out of the café with a stainless steel knife and fork! I gave a furtive look around, then slowly backed out of the parking space, too ashamed to return the utensils. Pauline, a voice said, take them back. Inside the café, the pleasant curly haired chap who served me lunch was cleaning the glass patio door. He stopped, gave one of those "V" signs with his fingers where he pointed at his own eyes, then at me, and smiled. "I see you, Pauline," he said. How did he know my name? Oh, yes, he'd written my lunch ticket. I gave him a tight smile and handed over the cutlery to the young woman behind the counter with an "I'm sorry." She gave me a look typically reserved for mental patients. "No problem," she replied, reaching for a slip of paper. My lunch ticket? I saw her scribble something. She's put an asterisk by my name, I thought. I'm now on the Restaurant Watch List! At home, I wracked my brain wondering how I could have done what I did. People walk out of restaurants all the time with things. I knew that. But they were small things, in tiny paper packets – not place settings! I clicked on the computer. I needed to sort this out. My eldest son, Dean, has a doctorate degree, so he's certifiably clever. If he has a health question, he goes to a primary source – the Mayo Clinic. I tapped in the URL. Up popped these reassuring words: When You Need Answers, You Know Where to Go. I typed in "forgetfulness," although I wasn't sure that was an accurate symptom. The knife and fork I'd scarpered with were unused. I'd ordered soup. A list of headings appeared on the website. At the top – The Study of Nasal Insulin in the Fight Against Forgetfulness (SNIFF). Clever acronym. I'd check that out later. Vitamin Deficiency Anemia – Symptoms and Causes. Another study to study. Drugs and their side effects followed. I don't take any medication. A term appeared I could understand: Behavioral Neurology. I recited aloud the list of symptoms: aggressive behavior, confusion, delusions, disorientation, forgetfulness, hallucinations, language difficulties, memory loss, personality and behavior changes, poor judgment, poor problem-solving abilities, and a tendency to get lost. I could check all of them. Well, some of them. Forgetfulness appeared in bold, reminding me of my query. Hallucinations? Not yet, unless you count that I still think I look good in ruffles. Language difficulties? Waiters look at me funny when I pronounce water, but I have remnants of a British accent. Memory loss? I hid a precious gift from my mother six months ago with the intention that on the 6th of May it would sit on the coffee table as I watched the coronation of King Charles III. This lost spoon commemorated the coronation of the late Queen Elizabeth II's father, King George VI. I haven't given up the search. Next up, Personality and Behavior Changes: I think I'm OK, but I hesitate to get a second opinion. What about Poor Judgment? I had lunch with friends two weeks ago, ordered a salad because I'm weight conscious and then followed it up with two scoops of vanilla gelato. Poor Problem-Solving Abilities? Not guilty. I'm on a local water district board, so my problem-solving skills are sharp. A Tendency to Get Lost? I paused on this one. I rarely get lost, but recently, on my way to join my Newcomers & Neighbors hiking group, I ended up taking a circuitous route to Regional Park in Auburn. This park holds special significance for me. At a prior group meeting at the park, I arrived early and skipped to the restroom. While suspended over the toilet, the door burst open. A man appeared. I shrieked. He shrieked. You scared me, I said when I exited. You scared me, he said. Which I didn't think was very gallant. I shared the incident with the group, and since nothing terrible happened, we all chuckled. After the walk, we gathered back in the parking lot. I looked over at the toilets. I have PTSD, I said. The group laughed. They laughed louder when our fearless leader, Hazel, piped up with "Emphasis on the P." See. Nothing wrong with my memory. Pauline Nevins is the author of the memoir, "Fudge" The Downs and Ups of a Biracial, Half-Irish British War Baby, and "Bonkers for Conkers," a compilation of personal essays. She can be reached at paulinenevins.com.