The Dorian Society

Vice-President. That’s the position I’m occupying in this not-so-secret society I and several of my officemates have established (at least in our imagination). We could be holding regular meetings but why bother? We’d probably forget we’re supposed to meet.

Our group’s name, in full, is “The Dorian Society of People Who Regularly Suffer from Temporary Amnesia.” We are naming ourselves as such in honor of a fish, Dory of Finding Nemo, who’ve brought to light the plight of those of us who have this uncanny ability to obliterate details from our consciousness. Details such as you have to take out the key from the ignition before getting out of the vehicle and locking the car (the current president confessed to this). Or that you can stop worrying that your cellphone got stolen because you actually left it at home (the secretary’s case).

Among us bonafide Dorians, we share the same anguish and self-loathing after a particularly frustrating forgetting episode. We all want to knock ourselves in head for forgetting such seemingly consequential things. How could I forget where I left it?!But most of us are making progress. The president told me that he’s installed automatic locking system in his vehicle and trained himself to push the button to lock/unlock. The secretary, I think, is improving as I haven’t heard of any more of the false alarm Oh-no-I-think-I-lost-my-cellphone instances.

So it is with much sadness for me to admit that I might soon be up for the presidency. Today, I’ve had three strikes against me. Strike one, I dial-an-order for pancit from a nearby eatery. The delivery comes. Halfway through our mid-afternoon meal, I discover the sixty pesos from my wallet didn’t make it to the deliverer’s hand (she also forgot to ask it from me). Strike two, I pencil in a piece of paper the subscriber code I needed for a bank transaction tomorrow but then I couldn’t find where I put it (This case too common!). And Strike three, on my way home tonight, I buy an astringent from a small drugstore right next to Ang Barbecue ni Alex (The Pride of Davao) [For a second I wondered if it was the business of somebody I know!]. This time I paid. I gladly handed the storeclerk my payment. So what did I forget? The astringent. Because I was more excited to check out the barbecue I ordered which was grilling at the adjacent store. (But I eventually remembered the astringent, after I got the barbecue.)

Now, unlike some petite women in the Philippines like me, I am not position-hungry. I don't want to be the president of the Dorian society! Forgetful I might be but hopeless I am not. Now, if I could only remember that.

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Meanwhile, Jenny's take on forgetfulness, it being a curse yet a gift, is interesting.