The Case of Billy Brilliant, Billy Bait-and-Switch, and the Recognition Curve

Short, relevant, scene-setting true story:

Back in the yachting Delirium years, I once came face to face with Owen Wilson on an island in the French West Indies and had a brief, unwittingly conversational exchange.

Owen freaking Wilson - probably one of the most distinctive, unmistakable Hollywood noses faces out there (not to mention his being Punchin' Judy's lifelong fave, hahahHAHAHA, Judy, suck it!). And as I walked away, my crew-mate at the time, who had witnessed the encounter, gave me the wink-wink-nudge-nudge-burst-into-delighted-giggles, and I had to have said crew-mate explain why. And then, after the ensuing barrage of facepalms, I tried with all my might, but really couldn't remember much detail about the guy I had just talked to or how much said guy did or did not look like the vague Bottlerocket-era Owen Wilson of my mind.

My point: I am the poster-child for why eyewitness identification is unreliable evidence in court.

(Oh right! Haha! Hi mom.)

This Billy case occurred maybe just a week after starting work in a new lab.

***

As it happened, one evening shortly after my first day on the clock, I approached a busy crosswalk in downtown Fort Billy, and through the gaps in passing traffic, I happened to spy Billy Brilliant standing across the intersection from me.

Who, you ask, is Billy Brilliant? Oh, right, I forgot:

(Betrothed - the most useless kind of Billy.)

So here's what you readers should understand: I'd just barely met Billy Brilliant, but by the time I spied him in the twilight that evening, I already knew that his smart-ass company was aces. Plus, since he was married and we were coworkers and so all the Potential Awkwards were just right off the table from the get-go, and what with being newish in town still and an irreparably-social creature at heart, I was just genuinely pleased to see someone I actually knew. And he must have seen me looking at him like I knew him, because after a few seconds he caught my eye and grinned just a little bit, chin up in a long-distance, familiar hello.

(You misunderstood my previous enthusiasm, Billy.)

Now, a normal person would feel relief or vindication or happiness or whatever it is normal people feel when they recognize and are recognized by a new acquaintance. But not me. Here is what my brain did as soon as Billy Brilliant's attention focused me: it hit a flying reverse. All of a sudden, my fickle, unreliably prosopagnosia-prone brain had reconsidered and was furiously drafting a dissent to the Solo v. Familiar Face ruling of a moment earlier.

Sure, this dude *looked* like Billy Brilliant (that's the suspect, officer), and he *acted* like he knew who I was (admission of guilt, your honor), and (another piece of circumstantial evidence, ladies and gentlemen of the jury!) he was dressed as if coming from the gym, which was a positive cue because yes, fine, I'd noticed in the course of working shoulder-to-shoulder at a fume extraction hood with Billy Brilliant that yeah, duh obv the man works out. But now, after both of us having performed all the social signals of positive recognition, now my wishy-washy brain decided it wasn't sure. Now my brain motioned for a mistrial.

This was unfortunate, because the moment of sentencing - where we would be within speaking range and one or both of us would have to say something - was nigh!

We both continued walking, closing the gap. Billy Brilliant continued making positive eye contact and flashed a dazzling smile. The gavel was poised.

 (Didn't your mom ever teach you it's not polite to stare BACK?)

PANIC. Nobody wants to suddenly be That Cray Witness who botches the suspect ID and points to the wrong stranger! But if I really didn't know him, then why else would this guy be, as he now was, fully locked in on me? I must know him. Right? The fuck? - do I have Capgras delusion or something?

(You know that moment of decision when you've met someone once, and the next time you speak, you realize you've forgotten their name and you have one of two choices: ask again and risk offense, or pretend and then commit to playing it off evermore, because by the third time you see them, you've already pretended to know, and so now admitting you never did know would be an order of magnitude weirder? I always choose wrong.)

( Heyyyy.... you.)

So I committed. I looked Billy Brilliant in the eyes and strode the final three steps toward him and then, at the last possible second of deliberations - reminiscent of that douchey frat-boy joke where you offer to shake someone's hand but then right as they reach for it you duck your palm and make the gotcha! face - this imposter swerved and shifted eye-contact as though all this body language was just in my head and walked past me and I realized that goddammit, this guy was definitely not my Billy!

 (What nothing I oh, there's that one thing you I mean where, me? No it's, haha.)

11th hour reprieve! We passed by one another like super-awkward chimera, and each completed our walks across the congested thoroughfare. But then.

We both stopped in our tracks. And turned.

 (Mitigating circumstance: under the effect of the Wrong-Guy-icus spell!)

And so, now on first appeal, we waited again through the motions of another orange-flashing Don't Walk cycle, he squinting intently at me, me looking away intently across the shadow-and-blinding-bright procession of low-beams and tail lights and illuminated cab signs and pyramid pizza delivery magnets rushing between us. I briefly considered turning and darting away through traffic to the opposite side of the street. But then, as I was still trapped by my own indecision on the mid-avenue island, the river of wheels came to a halt again.

The crosswalk flashed an "all-clear." Other pedestrians proceeded about their business.

And Billy Brilliant's ringer and I both just.

Fucking.

Stood there.

(Mentally replace, if you will, the crosswalk chirping with that O.K. Corral whistling-song.)

I shit you not - neither of us walked. The tension grew absurd. We both broke smiles.

As the Don't Walk rolled around again, he finally broke and jogged back toward me, and politely asked,

Do I know you?

It was clear to me now that I did not, in fact, know this guy from Adam. But the amnesty period for a confession had passed. Now was not the time for any lame  'you look like someone I know' alibis. Now was the time for pokerface. I raised my eyebrows and shook my head slowly.

No.

I thought I could see a quick deliberation happening in his head. Then, having reached his verdict, he extended his hand and introduced himself. A long handshake, a brief exchange, an offer to join him for a latte, and we turned and walked toward the nearest coffee shop together. Sale made.

Though I initially saw Billy Bait-and-Switch as probably the easiest date I've ever accidentally snagged, when I jokingly told Billy Brilliant about it the next day at work, he rolled his eyes and issued a quick bench trial ruling of his own: Pshhh. Billy Bait-and-Switch was likely the shark all along.

Jesus.

I have to say, for a science-not-pre-law kind of guy, I do admire Billy Brilliant's legal acumen.