I’m working a normal day at the massage studio when something I’ve never experienced happens.

A client is booked for a session at a certain time with a therapist — let’s call the client Mary — and I greet and check them in, and they wait for their session. As they wait, we even buy a gift card for their friend with her card on file and make another appointment for her. Eventually the therapist comes to get her to take her into session, and everything seems fine.

A minute later, Mary comes in, apologizing for being late for her session. I stare at her with a face of a deer in headlights and ask her to repeat her name. Then, panic sets in. Who’s on the therapist’s table?

I run back to find the therapist before they go in, stating Mary is here for her session, and we now have no idea who is in his room. He has to end up going in there basically saying, “Who are you?” since we’ve greeted her under the assumption that her name is Mary [Last Name], for her session.

Turns out, her name is Kari. Very similar in names! Her session is for the same time, with the same therapist but for tomorrow. Scrambling still continues as I realize I bought a gift card for Kari with Mary’s money!

Thankfully, we are able to get the real Mary scheduled for a new session, her card refunded, and each party happy, but after working at this studio for almost two years, and the therapist for over five years, we’ve never had anything like this happen before!

(My parents are an interesting pair. My dad loves mythology and folklore, while my mom has a soft spot for anything that involves cars. My little sister and I are helping Dad with the shopping.)

Dad: “Let’s see… Eggs, milk, your grandmother’s favorite cookies… Did I forget anything, Calypso?”

Me: “No, I don’t think so. Everything on the list is crossed out.”

Customer: *behind us* “What kind of name is that? Are you some sort of f****** hippie? Couldn’t you give her a normal name?”

Dad: “With all due respect, please mind your own business. Mercedes, sweetheart, can you help me put our things on the belt?”

Sister: “Okay!”

Customer: “Are you one of those annoying posh types? Naming your kids after a car.”

Dad: “It was a name long before it was a car. My mother-in-law loves The Count Of Monte Cristo.”

(The customer kept going like that at the smallest of things. We see him sometimes when we go shopping, but he just gives us the evil eye and doesn’t say a word.)

(I am working in a department store around the holidays. In the days leading to Christmas, we are slammed with customers every day. Although my name is uncommon, I somehow end up working with two other girls who have the same name. I work registers, one works stock in the back, and another is a shift manager, and we all look very different from each other. I’m checking out customers when my coworker tugs my shoulder.)

Coworker: “Hey, can you help me with something?”

Me: “Sure, what’s up?”

Coworker: *gestures towards customers in front of her* “Can you explain the return policy to them?”

Me: “Why? You’ve been here longer than me.”

Coworker: “But I don’t speak Spanish.”

(I’m Native American, so it’s a pet peeve of mine when people assume I’m Mexican because it leads to other insults. So, naturally, I get offended.)

Me: “And what? Because I have dark skin, I must speak Spanish?”

Coworker: “What? No!” [Store Manager]—” *who is not working that day* “—told me you spoke Spanish.”

Me: “No. I don’t. Are you sure you have the right [My Name]?”

Coworker: “Hmm.” *speaks into walkie* “Hey, [Assistant Manager], which [My Name] speaks Spanish?”

Assistant Manager: “Uh… Honestly, I don’t know. Page [My Name #2] up. She’s on the floor right now.”

(We page [My Name #2] to come to the register.)

My Name #2: “What’s up?”

Coworker: “Do you speak Spanish?”

My Name #2: “No. Why? Who told you that?”

(It turns out that the store manager told the other managers that [My Name] could speak Spanish, but failed to mention which of the three could. Of course, it ended up being the one who worked stock in the back and didn’t have a walkie.)

(I’ve gone to the emergency room. I get checked in through triage, and the nurse gives me the appropriate paperwork and sends me to the next waiting area. I drop my paperwork into the tray at the waiting area as instructed and take a seat. There are five or six other people already waiting. Every few minutes, a nurse will call a name and direct that person to an exam room.)

Nurse: “[Female Name that isn’t mine].”

(Nobody responds.)

Nurse: *repeats*

(Still no response.)

Nurse: *looks directly at me* “Are you [Female Name that isn’t mine]?”

Me: *a male, shakes head* “No, that’s not me.”

(The nurse disappears after that. A short while later I’m called by the same nurse and sent to an exam room. The nurse pulls open the curtain and there’s already someone there. She seems surprised by this but directs me to another room and leaves the curtain somewhat open as I sit down. The doctor comes in to see me after a few more minutes.)

Doctor: *reading his papers* “Okay, [Female Name that isn’t mine], looks like you’re here for [not my issue].”

Me: *still a male* “No, I’m [My Name], and I’m here for [my concern].”

(The doctor looked up for the first time and saw me. He was obviously confused, but double-checked his papers and walked out. I saw him go to the occupied room I was sent to initially. I don’t know why they were so insistent on me being that woman.)

(I’m a CNA at a local nursing home. I take care of one elderly gentleman in particular that I’ve developed a very good relationship with. He calls me “Sunshine” because of my sunny demeanor, very blonde hair, and love for yellow scrubs. I am chatting with him one evening when this exchange happens:)

Me: *telling a story* “And my friend said, [My Name], what did you do now?”

Resident: *looks confused* “Sunshine, who is [My Name]?”

Me: *laughing* “[Resident], I’m [My Name].”

Resident: *pondering this for a moment…* “No, you’re not. You’re Sunshine! End of story!”

(It made my day!)