Is it Real Me, or Pretend Me?

Lately I’ve been developing a persona I like to refer to as “Pretend Me.” Pretend Me does all the things that “Real Me” only dreams about. For example, Pretend Me wouldn’t think twice about telling off the client that was eating while speaking on a conference call a few weeks ago. Pretend Me would sit at home watching trash on TV, but Real Me has been pulling 12-16 hour workdays.

Today Real Me and Pretend Me got into a fender bender in the parking lot at BJ’s Wholesale Club. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Real Me was pulling into a parking space, and tapped the bumper of a car that was in the space on the left. Pretend Me forced the gear shift into reverse, peeled out and hightailed out of there. Real Me sighed, and put the car into reverse, and listened as the bumper of the Jeep gently unhinged the bumper of the parked car. Pretend Me screeched at Real Me, “What the hell are you doing?? Get out of here?”

Real Me parked the car, and asked an older woman approaching, “Is this your car?” The woman said yes. Real Me apologized profusely for hitting the woman’s car, while Pretend Me got in the woman’s face, pointed her finger millimeters from her nose, and got on her case for having the nerve to park in that lot, or even to come to the store in the first place.

Real Me then wrote down her name, phone and insurance policy number on a slip of paper from a small note pad she keeps in her purse, while Pretend Me scoured the car looking for a scrap of paper on which she could write somebody else’s name, number and insurance card—preferably that of an ex-boyfriend.

Real Me listened to the woman and her middle aged son discuss whether or not to call the police, while Pretend Me hollered something containing the phrase “We don’t need no stinkin’ badges.” Then the middle aged son whipped out his cell phone and said “So, what’s the number for the police in this town? Should we just call 911?”

“Don’t call 911, this isn’t an emergency,” Real Me sprung out of the car. Pretend Me grabbed the man’s cell phone, threw it across the parking lot with all of her might and said “Are you fucking crazy? You’re going to call 911 because the bumper is hanging down a few inches? Don't be a dumbass!” Then she took the item she planned on returning to the store and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, I just need to return this. I’ll deal with this when I’m done,” while Real Me stood in the parking lot for about an hour and made small talk with the woman and her middle aged son while we waited for the cop to arrive.

The cop arrived, and we filed the report. He examined the damage to her vehicle, then Real Me and Pretend Me reached out to the woman’s dangling bumper and ever so gently popped it back into place. We dusted our hands off on our pant legs, then went about returning a defective cordless phone to the store.