Bring on the Clones!

While I was standing there an older thin guy walks up and stares at me and says, “I know you!”

Now those of you who know me know that if my own wife and kids walked up to me unexpectedly I wouldn’t recognize them.  In fact there were several times I actually walked by mother on the street without recognizing her.  So it could be very possible that I do know this guy -in fact he sort of looked familiar.

“What’s your name?” he demands.

“Jeff,” I reply

“Jeff who?”

“Jeff Groberman.”

“Where are you from?”

“Vancouver.”

“Are you sure?”

I always love it when someone asks that sort of question.  So I stand there for about 30 seconds pondering it.

“Pretty Sure, “ I reply.

The more I stare at him the more I realize why he looks familiar.  He looks just like me!

“Well you got an exact double in Montreal.”

“I get that a lot,” I reply. “There’s a lot of me’s running around the world.  They cloned me – punched out dozen of me  - like Gingerbread men.”

“Really?” he asks.

It turns out that the guy is a doctor originally from Montreal now living in Baton Rouge. 

“You Jewish?” he asks.

“Yeah.  You?”

“Yeah.”

Now those of you who regularly follow my misadventures know how directionally challenged I am.  I still can’t find the exit from the baggage area – at least I haven’t got tazered yet.  But this guy is so clueless I’m concerned for his safety, and hoping that there’s no stapler in the area.  He can’t even figure out how to take his bag through customs and put it on the conveyer belt to his next Canadian destination.   

I take mercy on him, and tell him I’ll help him to his gate.  The guy has got THREE big bags – each weighing a ton. 

“What have you got in there?” I ask, dragging one oversized bag off the carousel for him.

“Just some instruments I need for the hospital.”

“What a complete Cat Scan unit?”

“You never know what you might need.”

This ought to be fun clearing customs.  I help him fill out the form he should have filled out in the airport and head for the customs guy. 

“You guys travelling together?” the customs official asks.

“Not really.” I state.

“Then why you up here together,” he asks looking at us.

“It’s a long story,” I begin.

“I don’t care,” he snaps. “Just gimme your brother’s declaration form.”

I hand him the two forms.  The guy glances at them.

“How come you got different last names?”

“He likes to go by his maiden name.” I respond.

The official, shakes his head, thinks it for a minute then decides it’s not worth pursuing further and waves us through.

I put his luggage on the conveyor belt, walk him to his gate and bid him farewell.  I notice he’s going to  Newfoundland where somehow I figure he’ll fit right in.

Now it's home and off to Yelapa with my wife Michele who is taking our first major trip together since our honeymoon - 40 years ago!  That ought to be interesting.