What’s in a Name?

That which we call a Coral Rose by any other name would be as funny . . .

So last night Jacquelyn and I had an interesting conversation at work, centered around the dumb things people have asked about my name in recent (and not-so-recent) days.

I’ve been asked if that was my real name, if that was my code name, if that was my given name . . . no, my real name is Hepzibah Jemimah Louise; my code name is double-O three, and I’m in the witness protection program.

But my all time favorite remains from the bagel store, when I had a conversation something like this. “Hmm, so were you born in the 70’s? No? That’s interesting. I just thought it sounded like your parents were on drugs when they named you.” I didn’t even respond to that, as I recall. What can you say to someone who thinks your parents must have been on drugs in order to give you that ridiculous name? Um . . . well, I like it anyway.

The other inquiries were dealt with much more politely, by the way. More than one of them were from guys seeking a better knowledge of me, if you know what I mean. Funny, I don’t respond well to pick-up lines that put down my given moniker. But I just tell people calmly that I happen to like my name as well, and that I think my parents had prodigous taste.

Take that.

People just make me laugh. Seriously, they ask the dumbest things.

Last night we had the typical closing customer. This grouchy lady (seriously, if you have frown wrinkles, and your mouth tends down, that’s a bad sign!) comes up and asks we do cold coffee drinks. I point out to her the normal options, giving her some of the most popular variations. She just looks at me. After a minute, her little brain kicks in and she realizes I’ve answered and asks if I have any I can make decaf. I give her the revised list. She just looks at me again.

There are now two men standing behind her, and I’m only open for another 10 minutes.

She sighs deeply and says she’ll have a large latte. Since this was one of the revised options, I say “Iced?” She looks personally affronted and huffs at me, “No!” All the while she is giving me a look as if I have sacrificed her first born son on an altar. Not to be struck down, I ask “Decaf?”
A similar huff and look are evoked. “No! And give me a . . . ”

Well, that’s why I went into this coffee business. Because I read minds. Naturally. Comes with the territory. :-D I’m so happy (seriously) to be working again. And this is a really really seriously cushy job. Lucky me!!!


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