The other day, as I was walking to the bus stop after class, I saw one of my students from last semester going the other way. As I’ve been doing with any of my former students that I recognize, I gave him a wave and said hello. When I did this, instead of waving back and returning my greeting, he quickly came walking towards me and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” Although I recognized him as one of my old students, I barely knew him. “Huh?” I said. “You told me that you’d meet me this afternoon.” To the best of my knowledge, I hadn’t even seen him since December. “I did?” I’d stopped walking and we were now facing each other. As if to confirm he said, “Mike, right?” He seemed pretty certain. “No. I’m Matt, your English instructor from last semester. Remember?” He squinted his eyes, winced, and tilted back his head as a pained look of embarrassment briefly crossed his face, and then passed. “Mike said that he’d help me with the IELTS (the British equivalent of the TOEFL exam). Do you know where he is?” I wasn’t even sure if I knew who Mike was let alone where he was. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” He showed me a multiple-choice worksheet clipped into a binder. He looked hopeful. I gave him a pat on the arm and said, “If you need help with the IELTS, Mike’s the man to see.” I continued on my way. “Good luck with it.” Mike and I are, presumably, the only two white men that he’s been in relatively close proximity to this year, and he still can’t tell us apart. I thought that it was pretty funny. We all must look alike.