No, but maybe, if you hummed a few bars…
This happened to me once back when I was a TA for a huge course. I came by the lecture hall to pick up the blue books about 15-20 minutes after the exam ended (there was an honor code, so students were expected to turn in their bluebooks by the deadline). When I walked in, there was a big stack of bluebooks on the table at the front, and one guy still sitting at a desk, writing.
I yelled at him, “Hey! Your time expired a long time ago! I have to disqualify your exam.”
He walked up to the front of the room and, waving his bluebook in his hand, he asked in an exasperated voice, “Do you know who I am?”
I shot back, “I have no idea who you are!”
He said, “All right then.” Then he shoved his bluebook in the middle of the pile, and ran away.
I love the ideas here! In reality, the only time I’ve been asked the question was by the son of a…well, yeah, a celebrity. In the sense that most people over 40 and under 70 would find the name ringing some faint bells, and maybe 1/3 of them would be able to identify his band.
Anyway, his son comes in to my Blockbuster Video store and tries to rent some movies. Only it’s his dad’s card. When I scan it, there are no other authorized users on the account. Worse, there’s a Saved Message blinking at me on the screen:
DO NOT ADD [SON’S NAME] TO ACCOUNT
and one just below it:
[ACCOUNT HOLDER] REMOVED SON FROM ACCT. DO NOT RENT TO HIM!
Crap. So I look through the History real quick and find late fees in the high triple digits that were disputed and written off, from movies rented by this kid (I’m assuming, since the sequels to two of them were in the stack in his hand…) There’s no way I’m bending the rules on this one; my DM would have my hide.
“I’m so sorry, your name isn’t on this account. The account holder needs to come in with his ID and add you on. Or I could set you up your own account, if you’d like. I just need your ID----”
“Oh, my GOD! This is ridiculous! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO MY **FATHER **IS?!?!?!”
“Well…apparently, he’s the guy who said not to let you rent on his account.” :dubious:
‘Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Should I?’
‘I’m [Self-Important Jerk]!’
‘Ah, so you are! Well done!’ [Extend hand] ‘Congratulations!’ [Shift to Ignore Mode.]
A couple times. Once, in banking when I was working the “non-client check cashing” area, where we had a dispensing machine and were behind bullet-proof glass on the lower level. Some rinky-dink attorney was down there with his client. Check was made out to client, attorney was trying to use his own ID because client apparently didn’t have sufficient ID (two with photos) for me to cash the check. Attorney tried the line, and I just raised my eyebrows. “Sure I do, and you’re certainly not (name on check).” We absolutely could not cash second-party checks so it’s not like the client could sign it over to the attorney and still get the cash. It was a six-figure check! No. And no.
Second time I was working front desk at a veterinarian’s office. Local member of a popular 90’s band brought his dog in for drop-off annual exam and vaccines etc. I needed his signature on the permission form for leaving the dog in our care without him present for the day. He asked me the question as if he was concerned someone might do something with copies of his signature as if it were his autograph. I said, “don’t worry, I’ll put it on the bottom so no one sees it, and I hope your autograph isn’t the same as your signature on legal documents.”
So years ago in college I heard an urban legend about a final exam that was being given to large class of about 250 students. The professor wasn’t there, but a graduate assistant was proctoring the test.
When the end of the allotted time runs out the proctor calls time. Most everybody gets up and turns in their blue books on the proctor’s desk. There are a few stragglers and after a few minutes the proctor calls time again, and says if you don’t turn in your blue book your test will not be graded. So everyone but one guy who is still hurriedly writing in his blue book turns their sheets in.
Finally the last guy walks up to the proctor’s desk to turn in his test booklet and the proctor say’s, “Sorry, I already called time. You’re too late.”
The student looks at the proctor indignantly and says, “Do you know who I am!!!”
The proctor says, “No, and I wouldn’t care if you’re the president’s son, you’re too late.”
The student stuffs his blue book into the middle of the pile on the proctor’s desk, and says, “Good, then you won’t know which test not to grade.” And strolls out of the classroom.
There’s an old joke where someone says, “Do you know who I am?” and another person says, “There’s a guy here who doesn’t know who he is.”
Yeah, we’ve heard: the graduate assistant was Tom Tildrum.
“You’re the janitor, right?”
“Yeah, you’re some asshole with a Kotex on his head.”
In a slow, overemphasized, Alfred Hitchcock sort of tone:
“One is given to understand that in such circumstances an “American Express” card can be useful. No, I don’t know how it is useful, only that it is purported to be so.”
I’ve actually had to deal with this helping a buddy out at the club/bar he co-owns. My usual response has been “Yeah – and give me a second to add up all the shits I don’t give about it”.
I’m a fan of the classic, “Why? Did you forget?”
A policeman friend of ours decades ago stopped a local politician for a moving violation. Politician says, “Do you know who I am? I’m [councilman X]!” “Pleased to meet you, Mr. X,” our friend replies. “Here’s your citation. Please drive carefully and have a pleasant day.”
This one time in college, I was cheating by still working on an exam long after time was up…
Considering my lack of involvement in popular culture, my answer would likely be “No, and in any event, the rules apply equally to everyone, so back in line, please.”
In Spain notaries are required to have law degrees and pass what’s considered the most difficult exam in the country in order to be able to attend several years of additional training; it might be the most prestigious job in the country, and certainly the one that’s believed to be hardest to get into (yes, more than MP or even President - even though we do have less Presidents than notaries). In theory, if a notary says somebody’s hair is naturally green, you’re legally required to believe it.
After dinner at my uncle’s house, one of his friends went by a Saturday night alcohol checkpoint and was stopped. “Good afternoon, sir, may I have your license? Thank you sir, Mr García, scribbles scribbles, and may I ask you to blow into the whistle-end here?”
“Oh, I haven’t drunk at all.”
“That’s good, it means you’ll blow a zero, makes the numbers look better. But I still need you to blow.”
“Uh, I’m a notary. shows the cop his professional ID”
“Then for all our sakes I hope you really blow a zero sir, but I still need you to blow into the whistle, sorry!”
On a related note, a few years ago Mrs Piper and I volunteered to work at the Grey Cup in Regina. We ended up working the exit door at the beer tent. Our main job was turning away people who tried to talk their way into the beer tent by way of the exit.
One other guy who had volunteered a lot gave us a tip: “Take a look at their feet. The nicer their footware, the bigger the jerk they’ll be.”
It was remarkable how accurate that was as a quick sorting tool …
Tom Tildrum’s story is pretty old. It appeared in Jan Harold Brunvand’s The Mexican Pet in 1986. It probably goes back further than that:
Ditto. Followed by, “…nor do I care.”