I’m a thirty-year-old guy, traveling with my family to Miami to shopping and stuff. It’s my first time in the USA. There is a nice mall in front of our hotel. The shopping mall is big and very exciting. It is pretty fun to see different people at the same time and place from all over the world. I go into a clothing store to buy something for myself.

Suddenly, a female customer approaches me.

Customer: “Excuse me, do you have this in a larger size?”

At first, I think something like, “You know what? I want to help this lady!” I look around and find the same shirt in what appears to be a larger size.

Me: “I found this one. Take a look.”

She takes it from me, looks it over, and then gives it back to me.

Customer: “Okay, I’ll buy it.”

Me: “Um… okay.”

I try to hand the shirt back. When she stares back at me, I realize what is going on.

Me: “Oh, I don’t work here. I’m sorry!”

She takes her glasses off.

Customer: “Okay. Can you call the manager, please?”

I know this is probably the wrong decision, but it is my first time out of my country. At the time, I really think that the best thing to do is try to help and then leave. I go to a guy at a register and tell him what is going on.

Me: “That lady thought I worked here. Now she wants to talk with the manager. I just tried to help, I’m sorry.”

The guy gives me a smile, trying not to laugh.

Guy: “A wild [Nickname For An Entitled Woman] appears, huh?”

I get the Pokémon reference, but at the time, I think she is a well-known customer with a normal woman’s name. The guy goes upstairs to find the manager.

Since I am trying soooo hard to help, I make the most unforgettable/unforgivable mistake of my life. I approach the woman and say:

Me: “Ms. [Nickname], the guy on the register was—”

Customer: “HOW DARE YOU?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TALKING TO?!”

I go pale. I just freeze while the entire store is looking and lift up my hands the exact way I’d do if I was getting robbed. For five minutes, the woman rants, saying all sorts of rude things. Slowly, I approach the register, as if I were a little deer scared by a wolf or a wild boar. The woman is following me, of course, step by step.

I see the manager approaching as my great white horse knight ready to protect me from that dragon.

Customer: “I demand you fire this… this lazy [profanity]!”

The manager takes a look at me and I slowly drop my hands down.

Manager: “Okay, lady. This guy tried to help you, from what I was told, but he doesn’t work here.”

The woman does not seem to be satisfied.

Customer: “You Latinos are just lazy, aren’t you?”

Manager: “If you don’t back off and leave this store, I will call the police, and I and this guy—” *points to me* “—are going to press charges for your racism.”

The woman left. I was like, “WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!”

The guy on the register then explained to me what a [Nickname] was.

My sister works in a fast food restaurant, and she’s the worker who hands food to people. She has been playing a game of name association with her coworker, where they try to name celebrities or famous fictional characters based on the names that are on the orders.

This particular order has the name “Wayne,” and she has come up with the alter-ego of Batman. When the car pulls up, she accidentally asks the customer, a somewhat elderly man:

Sister: “Hi, was it for Bruce Wayne— I mean, Wayne?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s Wayne. What did you say?”

Sister: “Is your name Wayne?”

Customer: “No, before that.”

Sister: *Trying to play it off* “Oh, I was just thinking about something.”

Customer: “Were you thinking about your hot date for tonight?”

Sister: “Nonononono, not at all!”

Customer: “Don’t worry about it. Just remember, marry for money and not love.”

And then he just drove off with his food. What?

This happened about fifteen years ago. The name Jesus (pronounced “Hey Zeus”) is a fairly common name in the Spanish-speaking community. Yes, it is spelled like Jesus Christ, but it’s pronounced differently. This is also how Jesus is pronounced in Spanish.

I’m a shift supervisor for a retail drug store chain. At the store, we have an employee named Jesus. At the top of our receipts, there is a little phrase that says, “Hi, my name is [Employee’s Name]. Thank you for letting me serve you today.”

One day, a woman storms in after her purchase, yelling at us.

Customer: “How dare you insult our Lord and Savior?!”

First, we’re all a little puzzled, and then we realize Jesus is at the register.

Me: “Ma’am, Jesus is a very common name in the Spanish community. Although it’s spelled the same as Jesus Christ, it’s pronounced ‘Hey Zeus’.”

Customer: “I am a devout Christian. I will not take this insult.”

Me: “Ma’am, that is his name — the name he was given at birth. He can’t just change it.”

Customer: “Yes, you can, and you will. I will not take this insult to the man who died for our sins.”

Me: “Ma’am, his name is ‘Hey Zeus’, not ‘Gee Zus’, and this is a common name in the Spanish community.”

Customer: “I have never felt so insulted! I’m never shopping here again!”

She stormed out. The funny part is that there is a pretty high Mexican population in this area. I’m surprised this is the first Jesus she has come across.

I have an unusual four-letter name that everybody gets wrong somehow. For the sake of this story, let’s say it’s Myra.

This happened when I was an intern in a hospital. I had a name tag on my scrubs which often prompted the patients to tell me how pretty and rare it was. One patient, however, still managed to read it wrong.

Patient: “Excuse me, miss… Err, what is your name?”

Me: “It’s Myra, madam.”

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: “No, madam.” *Slowly articulating* “My-ra.”

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: “No, My-ra, like this.”

I showed her my name tag.

Patient: “Nina?”

Me: *Pauses* “Nina it is.”

She called me the wrong name for the rest of my internship. Other than that, she liked me.

When I was about to start college, I placed an advertisement searching for anyone who had a room available to rent. I received a warm and friendly email to the tune of, “We’re a small family, kids are in their teens so they won’t be much of a nuisance, the room is really large, we’d love to meet you if you can come by this weekend, etc.”

The email was signed, “[Dad], [Mom], [Teen #1], [Teen #2], and Nala.”

I thought, “Well, that’s odd. Maybe the parents were huge ‘Lion King’ enthusiasts? Who knows? Just keep the wisecracks to yourself; she’s probably heard enough already.”

When I arrived for the scheduled meetup, I was met at the door by the mother and led into the living room where I met the rest of the clan.

Dad: “Hi, I’m [Dad]!”

Teen #1: “[Teen #1]. Nice to meet you!” *Shakes hands*

Teen #2: “[Teen #2].” *Shakes hands*

And I looked over at a third teenage girl sitting off to the side and smiling warmly. 

Me: “And you must be Nala!” *Waving*

She raised her eyebrow in confusion while the dad snickered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the other two teens cut in:

Teen #1 & Teen #2: “Yeah! That’s Nala! Nala, say hello!”

Wearing a “This isn’t funny” expression on her face, she said:

Teen #3: “Nice to meet you!”

We had a great time becoming acquainted with each other and I readily agreed to move in.

The first few months weren’t very remarkable, but I noted that “Nala” didn’t actually live there. She was a niece/cousin and was there practically every day. I also noticed that whenever I’d say, “Hi, Nala,” she’d give me an annoyed look and start to say something, but one of the teens would always cut in and say, “Hey, Nala! Do you know when—” and start a conversation.

It was after about four months when I was finally let in on the joke: “Nala” wasn’t her name. “Nala” was the mom’s pet cat that I had never paid any attention to. 

Embarrassingly enough, as the joke got around, the poor girl couldn’t shake that nickname off for the rest of the time she was in high school.