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Contrition works

Among my smorgasbord of serious social shortcomings, perhaps the most egregious is a seemingly endless ability to forget names.
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Among my smorgasbord of serious social shortcomings, perhaps the most egregious is a seemingly endless ability to forget names. More accurately perhaps, a limitless inability to remember names, since I'm not certain I'm forgetting something I knew as much as not remembering something I've heard that never quite made it past the gatekeeper of memory.

How poor is my name/face memory? For the past several days I've been plagued by a total failure to remember the name of a person I worked with. I could let it slide but it's not like I worked with her a decade or two ago. We worked side by side just last winter! At first, I sloughed it off, taking comfort in the belief it would come to me if I just stopped thinking about it. When that lateral drift technique didn't yield any results, I tried hard to remember her name, running the alphabet - Abby, Betina, Carly... - all to no avail. It was like trying to chip away a car-size block of concrete with a child's plastic hammer. If the aha moment doesn't arrive soon, I may have to call a friend and ask since there is every possibility we may work together again this coming winter.

Lest you think this affliction is symptomatic of encroaching, age-related dementia, let me assure you it's a malady I've suffered for as long as I can remember. And therein lies a cruel irony. I vividly remember a lot of stuff, both recent and ancient, particularly if it contains any element of personal embarrassment. It's just names that elude me.

I didn't notice this particular shortcoming until around the putative age of adulthood. Why would I? Why would anyone? As kids, our world is small and we know everyone in it. The other kids in the neighbourhood, relatives, family friends all dwell within our sphere of sufficiently frequent contact that remembering their names, or in the case of other kids the cruel nicknames we've assigned them, is a snap. Familiarity breeds comfort as well as contempt.

Remembering names got a bit harder when school started but was still a manageable challenge since I tended to spend all day, every day with the same kids and same teacher. The circle was bigger but frequency and repetition masked the challenge to come. Besides, it wasn't like I needed to remember the name of every kid in the class, just the ones I played with, worked with or knew enough to avoid if I didn't want to be tortured.

Secondary school upped the ante. Different classes, different teachers, a kaleidoscope of faces and names, all made more difficult and traumatic by the overlay of adolescent hormonal storms.

But quasi-adulthood, university, employment and more complex social engagements iced the cake. I was lost. Faces seemed familiar, names escaped me. I tried the various mnemonics and word association tricks outlined so successfully by Dale Carnegie and others, all to no avail. I was simply hopeless at names and considered it a gaping hole in my already lace-like tapestry of social graces.

As a last resort, I adopted the strategy of apologizing to people for not remembering their names. Not wanting to face the unpleasant prospect of forgetting their name and apologizing the next time we met, I apologized as they were introducing themselves, assuring them I'd inevitably be unable to dredge up their name on our next meeting. It was less embarrassing to apologize up front. It was also a source of mirth for many of those apologized to and, ironically, managed to help a little bit - not much - in remembering some names because of the funny conversations that followed my pre-emptive apology. Not coincidentally, those who found it most amusing were the ones who shamefully admitted they suffered from the same failing.

Recent advances in brain science have actually revealed a pathological explanation for name forgetfulness. I take small comfort knowing there's either a dead zone in that cavernous space between my ears or some wiring gone askew to help explain the fact I pretty much refer to everyone as buddy, in some cases for years and in all cases, regardless of gender. I still consider it a personal failure and will until someone starts a ribbon campaign for the name-challenged among us.

And so, I apologize.

As it turns out, apology is a very powerful tool in human social intercourse. In Western cultures at least, we seem to be socially hardwired for forgiveness. Perhaps it's an implicit admission of the fact we all know we're screwups and in need, sooner or later and for some of us quite frequently, of forgiveness ourselves.

Southwest Airlines - an airline held in high regard by people who fly it, bucking a larger trend toward loathing airlines - actually employs a person whose sole function is to write letters of apology to passengers. This task is an all-consuming job since Southwest, according to a New York Times story a couple of years back, sends the letters to every passenger on an affected flight. They apologize not in response to customer complaints, but pre-emptively when something goes wrong on one of their flights or even when passengers are inconvenienced because of events completely outside their control.

The principal roadblock for many people when it comes to effectively adopting apology as a strategy of disarmament is ego. Integral to apology is the acceptance of blame and admission of failure, in whole or in part. That is a sting too painful for many to bear and, not surprisingly, there is a pretty close correlation between the level of pain - and therefore the reluctance to use apology - and the power of one's position. It is generally harder for high-ranking, powerful people to apologize.

And so it was nothing short of amazing Tuesday evening to watch an auditorium full of seething villagers, torches ablaze and pitchforks held high, douse their smouldering passions as one after another of our elected leaders apologized for punting pay parking. Councilors Forsyth, Quinlan and Thomson were explicit, to the point and personal in their mea culpas. Councilors Zeidler and Milner were more implicit in shouldering the blame. Councilor Lamont had already progressed down the road to redemption by fronting the motions that brought the conversation out of the backroom and into the spotlight.

And Mayor Ken was in stellar form, showing flashes of humour and humility and only once slipping into pique despite what was most definitely extreme provocation.

All agreed the strategy was, well, lacking and the implementation and communication was nothing short of abysmal. And in true apologetic fashion, none tried to soften the burden of blame by suggesting they were, in this instance, ill served by their staff.

It was a class act and a joy to behold. Good on ya, guys. And good luck hammering out a more coherent parking strategy. User pay is the better option.