For every student name I remember from my first few days on campus, I've surely made a plethora of awkward, unsightly introductions. The script reads something like this: "Hey, I'm Adam Kaminski. I'm from Arlington, Mass., and yes, I live in South. Be jealous." Easy? Yes. Worthwhile? Hmm...
Not only do I feel buffoonish running through this lazy prototype of an informal greeting, but it's also horribly ineffective. I've retained the names of fewer classmates than I care to admit and feel ridiculous asking for the third, fourth and, in those particularly embarrassing cases, hundredth time. There are simply too many Toms, too many Rachels and too many names I cannot pronounce. Tom, Rachel, (insert foreign name here): I apologize profusely.
However, as hopelessly forgetful as I am, there are individuals whom I recognize, people whose names I can remember and utilize in greeting. While I can recall these names, my retention is invariably due to some other aspect of their character: Students' zany personality traits, idiosyncratic features and quirky appearances buff my memory, not their names, hometowns or residential halls.
On my second day at Tufts, I met Simone Allen and promptly forgot her name, hometown and residential hall. On my third day, I met her again. For the second time (and not the last), we exchanged our personal information, dutifully, but we exchanged something else, something truly personal, vulnerable and valuable: our college application essays. We discussed the question "Why Tufts?", the brutal, unforgiving Common App and other formal pieces of writing you don't want to think about. We didn't want to, but good stories make for great mnemonics.
Simone has synesthesia, a "neurological condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway." Thank you, Wikipedia. Specifically, Simone sees music. In her mind, each musical note is accompanied by a vivid color: C shines gold, E flat appears dark orange and F sharp displays lime green. She can visualize a Mozart and hear a Pollock. She has relative and perfect pitch. What Wikipedia is trying to tell me, in other words, is that she wrote a more fascinating college essay than I did.
Despite my fumbling memory and my typical bumbling introductions, I will never forget Simone or her unusual condition. I will never forget where she's from (California) or where she lives. (Bush ... hit her up!) Our proper greeting - something that was more substantial than the expected and mundane "Hello, my name is..." - solidified the retention of her personal information. More importantly, it solidified our friendship.
I'm not at all suggesting that anyone wear his college essay as a name tag. That would be torturous and unnecessary. College upperclassmen are long through with the application process, and really, we all are. We all want to tear away from those grueling memories of writer's block, meddling parents and unhelpful guidance counselors. I am saying that maybe it's time for a new, revised, pizzazz-ed script. Something more enthralling than a firm handshake and a fake smile.
Let's try again: "Hey! I'm (still) Adam Kaminski. Fun fact: socks are my favorite article of clothing. Also, do you play Settlers of Catan? It's a passion of mine and of nerds everywhere. You look geeky too, want to play? Oh! And one more thing: If you ever need a barber, I'm your guy; I cut my own hair."
More engaging? I hope so. Possibly disturbing, too. Either way, disclosing unique, identifiable characteristics will lead to memorable relationships, lasting friendships and easier greetings. Introductions can be awkward, but assisted by enthusiasm, attention and individuality, maybe we can make them less so. Maybe I'll even remember your name.
Adam Kaminski is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Adam.Kaminski@tufts.edu.
