My first name is a fairly common one that is frequently mixed up by customers for a much more common one. Let’s say my name is Joan and the other name is Jane. This has never caused a problem for me or offended me. It didn’t this time, either, but this is the story of the oddest time it happened.

In the late 1990s, I was working for a locally-owned store that sold home decorating things — wallpaper, lamps, etc. In between helping in-store customers one busy Saturday afternoon, I took a phone call from a man.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is Joan. How may I help you?”

Customer: *In a friendly, upbeat voice* “Hi, Jane. This is [Customer]. I need [list of disparate items]. Can I have those put on hold?”

Me: “Sure. May I make take your information and call you back?”

He agreed. I searched for and found all the needed products. Then, I called him back.

Me: “Hello, this is Joan calling from [Store]. I’ve found all the items you requested, and they are on hold at the service desk through tomorrow.”

Customer: *Again in a friendly, upbeat voice* “Great. Thanks, Jane. I’ll pick them up in an hour.”

An hour later, I was at the service desk when a smiling middle-aged man walked up to the counter.

Me: “Hi! How can I help you?”

Customer: *In the same friendly, upbeat voice* “Hi, I’m [Customer]. Jane put some things on hold for me.”

Me: “Oh, yes, that was me. Let me find your hold. Just so you know, my name is Joan, not Jane.”

Customer: *Suddenly and loudly* “OH, THANK GOD!”

I stared at him in surprise and shock for a moment. At the same time, his facial expressions rapidly went from relief to embarrassment, but he regained his composure quickly and explained.

Customer: *In a quiet, serious voice* “My ex-wife’s name is Jane. Our divorce was recently finalized. My teenage children and I are redecorating the family home now that she’s moved out. I’m glad to be talking to a Joan and not a Jane.

I quickly tried to redirect the conversation back to home décor.

Me: “Ah… I’m sorry to hear about that. Let me get your hold.”

After that, our interaction was normal, but he was much more subdued than he had been. I got his hold, answered his questions about the products, and helped him find a few more items he needed. He was nothing but polite to me the whole time.

People still mess up my name frequently, but this is the only time it has triggered somebody.

The pastor of our church asked my husband and me if we would consider refinancing our home. Why? He felt it would be beneficial for us to “donate” the equity to the church to help build a new facility with a basketball court. It was the pastor’s “dream basketball court”, but he promised up and down that it would be for the church’s youth. He ended up convincing several families to donate their home equity toward his— I mean, the church’s project.

I flat-out refused. My husband was furious with me for refusing, and we had several escalating arguments over it. Coupled with pressure from the pastor, including a list of people who had already donated and several quotes from the Bible, it very quickly grew to a head.

I turned on my husband and told him he could keep the church in the divorce, but I was going to sell him our house and give him his half to do whatever the h*** he pleased with it. I made it completely clear that there was no way I was going to put my half of the divorce settlement toward this “project”.

In the end, everyone lost their money, and the building was never built. We have no idea where the pastor is to this day; he just disappeared shortly after enough money was donated.

I put the money down on a new home, and I’m very happy with my single life.

My parents separated when I was in my early teens, and for some years, it was ugly between them. While my mom made sure that I still had a relationship with my dad, I was extremely angry about what he did to my mom and tried to avoid being around him too much, especially because he kept trying to bad-talk Mom to me.

One day, he turns to me and starts to complain.

Dad: “Your mom was crazy, honey. She would scream at me for no reason.”

Me: “Mhm.”

Dad: “I would get home and she would make up all sorts of accusations.”

Me: “Okay.”

Dad: “I never said anything back. I don’t know why she would treat me like that. She is crazy, I’m telling you.”

I got fed up, and for the first time, I decided to stand up to him.

Me: “Please stop. This is all a lie.”

Dad: “What are you talking about? Did she poison you against me already?!”

Me: *Quietly* “This speech of yours might work with my brothers, Dad… but did you forget my bedroom shares a wall with the kitchen? All the times you two went to argue there instead of your bedroom to not wake us up, well, I woke up for them. I heard it all. I know what happened. Stop talking bad things about Mom to me, because if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even come to have lunch with you anymore.”

Surprisingly, it worked. He looked ashamed like I had never seen him before — or since — and stopped talking. He only started to trash-talk Mom to me one more time, but then he saw the look on my face and got quiet.

I turned eighteen the year this happened, so I was just legally old enough to do scratch-off lottery tickets. I was at my mom’s house for Christmas, and she got me what looked like a legitimate ticket. I’m sure your heart is sinking for me already.

Well, I did the scratch-off, and it said that I had won something like $100,000 — one of the grand prizes. It would’ve been a huge payout at my age.

My mom encouraged me to call my dad (divorced parents who’d had fifty-fifty custody) to tell him the big news. She sat, with this little smile, through my telling him how much better things would be for the next few years, especially college.

This went on for about twenty minutes before I hung up with, “I love you! Merry Christmas!”

Then, my mom told me it was a gag ticket, and she burst out laughing. I could just feel my face fall as she made a comment about how funny my excitement was over my “obviously fake” lottery ticket. Through tears of laughter, she even criticized my intelligence over not realizing it.

Once again, I was newly eighteen and had never played before. I had no knowledge of what a real scratch-off was supposed to look like in comparison.

I left her house on the spot, storming out. I had to call Dad back and explain what happened, near tears. I went to his house, where we made a Christmas dinner together.

Ten minutes after I left, my mom sent me a text asking me if I was over my “snit fit” yet.

Twenty minutes later, she berated me via text for overreacting.

An hour later, she was alternating between non-apologies and demanding that I return to her house and apologize for “setting the family against her.” (Gotta love the family phone tree; everybody knew what she had done within the hour.)

Two hours later, I was calm enough to look at my phone to see all her messages. I merely texted her back a single message, saying that maybe there was a good reason for her to be divorced from Dad and now I knew why he didn’t like her anymore. (I had been shielded from most of the drama until that moment.)

It was one of the most intense mixtures of feeling simultaneous loathing, anger, and sadness I’ve ever felt. It took me almost all year to forgive her, and even after that, I’ve never treated her the same.

It’s the busy holiday season, and I’m helping a man find a gift for his wife. He’s not sure what he should get her, but he’s very polite, so I don’t mind taking some time to discuss options.

After he selects a lovely (and quite expensive) diamond ring, I check him out at the register. He takes his bag and turns to leave, and then he turns back and casually asks me the following.

Customer: “Oh, also, can I have your number?”

He’s so casual that it catches me completely off-guard.

Me: “Can you… what now?”

Customer: “Oh, this?” *Gestures to the gift bag* “This is a divorce gift.”

I’m stunned speechless for a second.

Me: “A… huh?”

Customer: “I’m divorcing her.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

I look back and forth from him to the jewelry bag, trying to wrap my head around this.

Me: “A divorce gift?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

He says this pleasantly like we’re making completely normal small-talk.

Customer: “So, anyway, can I have your number?”

Me: “Ummm… NO!”

Related:
Is This A Thing? I Don’t Think It’s A Thing.