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CURRENTLY
Reading:
God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything
by Christopher Hitchens
Surfing:
Naked in Public
by Monica
Eating:
Pizza from
Northlake Tavern and Pizza House
Listening:
A Winter Symphony
by Sarah Brightman
Drinking:
Stella Artois
November 30 2007
Two things frequently happen to me which I find strange and uncomfortable.
The first is that people regularly mistake me for someone else. I’m often asked, “Have I seen you before?” This happens at least once a week and my standard response is just to say, “I get a lot of that.” At an old job, this happened several times when I’d go to the grocery store to buy lunch. The same checker, several times, would see me and ask, “Weren’t you here a few minutes ago buying lunch?” I’d laugh and say, “No, but I get a lot of that!” while feeling judged. I would think to myself a) why would someone buy lunch twice in a matter of minutes - not once, but several times a week? and b) do I look like I eat lunch and then turn around and go buy another lunch to eat again? Do I look like that kind of person? Did she just call me a fat whore?
At pub trivia a few weeks back, the bartender started talking to me and calling me Meg. Then she looked at me and said, “You’re not Meg! You look just like my friend Meg!” and walked away, exclaiming to the other bartender - “She looks just like Meg!”
I am not Meg.
Apparently, I am Linda.
This is what the people at the bank call me. In fact, a lot of people call me Linda. It would appear that when I tell people my name I am having one of two problems. I am either forgetting my name altogether and referring to myself as Linda or I have some strange speech impediment that no one has ever informed me of. Linda is the name most people mistake me for having, but close behind is Wendy. Sometimes I get a Lynn, a Laney, a Winsey or a Winney. I’ve asked Janie for the honest to God truth, and she swears I have no speech problems that could lead people to believe that these could be my right name.
I have been going to the same bank in downtown Seattle for about two and a half years, as part of my job. After several months, the teller asked my name, as I was there pretty much every day and she was probably tired of saying, “Hey lady!” I told her my name was Linsey.
“Wendy?”
“Linsey”
“Lynn?”
“Linsey.”
“Wendy?”
“LIN-SEY”
“Oh, Linda. Hi Linda.”
“Linsey.”
“Linda.”
“Okay.”
After that, as if to torture me, she began to greet me each time I came in with, “Hi Linda!” It went on for so long that I felt like I couldn’t correct her. I’ve let her call me Linda for years now, and correcting the mistake feels like more trouble than it is worth. I’d grown used to her happy greetings for Linda. I adopted Linda as my bank persona.
About four months ago, my boss went to the bank in my place, came back and said, “The woman at the bank thought your name was Linda. I told her your name was Linsey. She looked confused.” I felt immediately embarrassed. In my head I imagined the scenario of meeting the teller on my next trip and the look of hurt and betrayal on her face, now knowing that there is no Linda, and having to explain how two years ago I couldn’t be bothered to spend three hours going back and forth trying to convey my name. I explained the situation to my boss. “Your bank name?” she asked before wandering off to write my termination letter for being both a liar and insane.
My next trip to the bank was gut-wrenching.
“Hi.”
“How are you?” I asked
“Fine.”
She was so cold to me. We wrapped up our transaction without any pleasantries and I went back to my office, broken and alone. My next visit was more promising. She was friendlier. She didn’t refer to me by my bank name, though, and I felt like Janie must feel when I pretend not to be mad but really am mad because why can’t she do the dishes already?
After a few visits, things returned to normal.
“Hi Linda,” she greeted me.
“Hi Linda!” her teller friend chirped.
No one other than the original teller had referred to me by my bank name before and I became suspicious. Were they all calling me Linda now because they know it’s not my name, but they want me to know now that everyone at the branch knows how deceitful I’ve been? This has carried on for some time now and I still feel quite leery of their intentions, but I can’t let on that I am not Linda. This charade has gone on for so long that maybe I believe I am Linda.
For these four months, since my boss let the cat out of the bag, I’ve been devising conversations in my head for the possibility of confrontation by angry bank employees who demand to know why I lied about my name. In my head, they are an angry mob straight out of times of yore, wearing earth toned tattered clothes, carrying rakes, torches, rolling pins and crying babies. Slowly the crowd gathers more strength and numbers as it passes by offices and picks up strays. They make their way to my office, crowding the hallway. I get up on a chair and shout so I can explain myself. Maybe they begin to shout back things like “Get her!” or “Let’s not listen!” or “Someone said something about free cookies! Do you have the cookies?” and I explain that, yes, my name is Linsey, but my nickname is Linda which is why there might have been confusion and no, there are no cookies.
With that, the crowd will disperse and Linda will live to bank another day.
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8 Responses to “Bank Name”
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Linsey, this is just bloody WONDERFUL! I’ve really missed you!
Zen
thank you! :)
What a great post!! I have a similar problem: I have to figure out how to tell my hairdresser that my male best friend and I, who always make joint appointments for haircuts, are not married. His mistake has gone on for too long and what was originally just awkward now seems fraught with danger.
Congrats on NaBloPoMo!
shandon - that does sound dangerous. how would you break the news without risking your hair?
this is appalling. Linsey is NOT a hard name.
i think you should go in there with a “Hello my name is” nametag filled in with a different name each time from now on. then maybe one of them with a sense of humor might break all that tension.
Oh, I am always Heather. And always people are telling me “Are you sure you weren’t there? I could have sworn I saw you. You must have a doppelgagner.” Really? Can I see this person? Cause I’d like to know what you think I look like.
I am so not a Heather.
That’s so true - I’d love to see what people are mistaking me for, also.
Wow, I thought I was the only one who has the doppleganger problem. But of course, there must be at least ONE other person (who certainly gets around a lot) who gets mistaken for me! I have been taken for this other person or persons on every single continent on earth. I have been confused with someone’s cousin in Japan! and I am not Asian. Either I am some kind of chameleon, or my gene pool is extremely well populated.