Good morning, who?

I realized when I got to the Germantown station this morning that it had been too long since I'd been on the train. My friend Harold, the ticket agent, couldn't remember my name.

I ride MTA's MARC train three or four mornings a week, and each time I walk into the station Harold greets me with a big handshake and a warm "Good morning, Daniel." But this morning he drew a blank.

Handshake.

"Good morning, uh . . ."

I thought he might be teasing.

I sat down to plug in my computer while waiting for the train, which was running about five minutes late. A few minutes later the other regulars were saying "see ya" and "so long" and "have a good day" as I gathered my power cord and stood up. "Help me out here!" Harold blurted as he reached to shake my hand again.

"Daniel," I said.