I was at the Captain’s Bar with a good friend and his colleague, who was visiting the Hong Kong office for work.
Our visitor had a distinctive family name which jogged my memory as I recalled a charming lady whom I had met at a conference a couple of years ago with the same surname.
Considering how unusual this name was, I ventured to ask the guy if he was related to her. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “You must be mistaken — no one I know has this name as it’s just something I fashioned.”
I could have sworn the lady shared his name and probed further. I mentioned she had a senior position at a global bank and was even based in the same country as him. But the guy just looked at me blankly.
A couple of single malts later, however, he had a brainwave.
“Oh, I just remembered… I think that’s my wife you’re talking about,” he said sheepishly, apologising and blaming sleep deprivation for the memory lapse.
I looked at him in sheer disbelief. The breakneck pace and pressures of banking aside, there is no excuse for forgetting your wife’s name, and I dreaded to imagine his fate if she found out.
He looked mortified, though, so I consoled him with another round of drinks — ensuring he didn’t remember his slip-up later on.