People who are face blind will not know who's picture I posted above. That's kind of sad.
I met a face blind lady on my most recent trip to Tampa. She was very nice. But I was kind of jerk. Because I introduced myself once, and then just avoided talking to her after that -- even though she would remember me if I re-introduced myself again. I just didn't want to talk. She's a published author, and since I get easily star-struck and I'm clutchingly introverted, I almost always opt for not talking to someone over talking to someone.
I kind of wish everyone was face blind. I could never talk to anyone ever again, and it would never offend anyone. I would go home and be a stranger unless I chose to introduce myself. I could huddle away in some dark corner, or I could wander the streets for all purposes invisible and nameless.
There is something alluring in the thought of the apocalypse, a sort of forced reinvention of the self, a forced second chance at approaching one's life. The accountant can become a warlord, the warlord can become an organic farmer. Most people, I imagine, would do their best to become a warlord. I think I'd take the chance to become a chef. But that probably means I'd be subject to the whims of an accountant-turned-warlord, and I would have to grill steaks, which are okay, instead of baking much more fun stuff like carrot muffins and strawberry Nesquick pancakes -- which, in the post-apocalypse world, would be a delicacy given the finite supply of strawberry Nesquick.
Of course, if everyone did somehow acquire face blindness, it would kind of be like the end of the world. Or at least its reinvention. And in this instance, I imagine people would continue to make strawberry Nesquick. So again, among apocalypses, mass face blindness is one of my favorites.