twodinks.com

Today was an odd day for me, name-wise. I’ve had over 40 years to get used to my names, both first and last. I don’t need to be reminded of it at regular intervals as though I have a habit of misplacing it. It’s not like someone came along and told me at the age of 24 that I could go ahead and toss out the surname I’d been used to and take someone else’s. (Sorry, Jul.) So it was surreal and mildly irritating to hear a person say “Dave” to me somewhere around thirty times during a conversation today.

It was much more annoying when the Indian woman at Sprint called me Mr. K…. at the end, Mr. K….. Of every sentence, Mr. K…., and sometimes at the end of every phrase in a run-on sentence, Mr. K…., like this one. She was very happy, Mr. K…., to help me reactivate my cell phone. (mr. k….) I misplaced my long-suffering cell phone, Mr. K…., sometime late last week, Mr. K…., and I finally called Sprint yesterday to deactivate the phone, Mr. K….. Which virtually guaranteed that I (or my lovely wife) would find it. Which is exactly what happened. Mr. K….. When she wasn’t reciting my name, she was thanking me for the information I’d just given her, as if I’d divulged government secrets instead of simply giving her my cell phone number.

It would have at last been appropriate to whip out a sophomoric “THAT’S MY NAME, DON’T WEAR IT OUT” but I don’t think they know that old saw in Bombay.