I used to have a classmate whose first name was Marvel. I’m not kidding. Her sister was named Wonder.

Marvel hated her name, especially all the jokes and teasing we made at her expense. In fact, I’m the one who coined the nickname “Marvellous Misfits,” which our old teacher found so funny that he referred to our class that way for an entire year.

Many moons and years later, I bring my daughter for her first day at school — my old elementary school, to be precise. And guess who is her Homeroom teacher? It’s Marvel, dressed up as Captain Marvel.

Marvel: “Hi, kids! My name is Marvel [Surname], and I’m the Marvellous Homeroom teacher of you Marvellous Misfits!”

Later…

Me: “Hi, Marvel. I don’t suppose you remember me? I’m—”

Marvel: “Ah, [My Name]? Wow, it’s been a while.”

Me: “Yeah. I must say, I didn’t expect this of you.”

Marvel: “The teaching or the Marvellous puns?”

Me: “Both. But let’s focus on the jokes. You used to hate them so much.”

Marvel: “Well, I figured that if I couldn’t avoid them, I’d just have to own them. Just go with the flow, you know? It’s what my sister Wonder does, and she’s the life of every party.”

Me: “Wonderful.”

Marvel: “Exactly.”

Marvel was a great teacher. She made school fun and enjoyable for her students, really stimulated their interests, and encouraged their hobbies.

She also got every single student of hers hooked on the Marvel Cinematic Universe — some to an exasperating degree — but that’s another story.

This actually happened to a fellow homeschooling buddy of mine. She took her son for his driver’s license. Everything was good until they checked out the new license. It had her son’s middle name spelled wrong. Let’s say his middle name is Matthew and his family spells it Maphew. They immediately went back to the counter 

Mom: “Excuse me, but my son’s name is misspelled.”

Employee: “No, it’s not.”

Mom: “Ummm, yes, it is. We should know.”

Employee: “No, you spelled it wrong. I fixed it.”

Mom: “Ma’am. It’s clearly spelled on his birth certificate, Social Security card, and all the legal documentation that was handed to you. Are you saying it’s spelled wrong on all of that?”

Employee: “Yes. It is spelled wrong.”

Mom: “No, it’s not, and I dont think you have the right to make that call. Please change it.”

Employee: “I dont see what the big deal is.”

Mom: “Well, for one, he is about to take the SAT, and it’s been made clear that the name must match the official ID used, especially for homeschoolers. Second, of course, that doesn’t really matter; it is his name, and he has a right to have it spelled correctly.”

Employee: “Ugh, stupid homeschoolers. It’s not my fault you dont even know how to spell your own name. Maybe you should get a real education.”

Mom: “My son came in second at the state spelling bee, so I think he has spelling down pat. Also, what you said is as offensive and unfounded, as if I made a comment about how kids who go to public schools can’t get a decent education. Get me your supervisor, NOW!”

She stomped off and a manager came out. When my friend explained what had happened, he was speechless. He apologized and immediately made a new license with the correct spelling of the young man’s name. My friend went to file a formal complaint a few days after she cooled down, and she was informed that woman was no longer employed there.

I’ve just been hired at a UK university. Someone in Human Resources misspelled my surname when adding me to the system, which meant it was also wrong on my contract and on my IT username.

I do have a Spanish surname that’s not common even in Spain; I’ve never met anyone outside my family with this surname. Still, it’s only seven letters; it would have taken the HR person two seconds to double-check.

My contract is redone; my IT login isn’t. Instead, they keep my username as a misspelled version of my surname, but they create an alias so my email address is the correct version.

My boss and I pop into the department’s manager to ask her to speak to IT again. She says she’s been told that usernames can’t be changed, so they figured it’d be easier to just create an alias for the email and keep everything else as is, rather than go through the trouble of creating a new username for me. After all, I’d be the only one to ever use or even see my username.

Me: “So you’re saying that every single time I log into the system, I’ll have to misspell my name?”

The department’s manager looked at me as if she’d only just realized the implications of IT not spending an extra five minutes on my case.

My boss insisted that my username was redone, the department’s manager spoke to IT again, and everything was resolved within a day or two. But that last conversation shouldn’t have been necessary, and it coloured how I perceived my new colleagues.

My name is a very traditional Irish name, and a pain if I’m honest. I’ve had a life of people mispronouncing it and struggling to fill in forms. I normally go by my nickname for anything not official.

I’ve ordered a coffee and sit down waiting for it to be made. It’s pretty busy so it’s a fair wait.

I‘m waiting for my coffee, someone with the same order as mine gets called out.

Customer: “That’s mine.” *He collects his order.* “You forgot the cream.”

Worker: “This one specifically states no cream.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous, and you have the wrong flavour, and is this even a large?”

Worker: “Is your name [My Name]?

Customer: “Well, no, but that’s my order.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I think that’s my order. Is it for [My Name]?”

Worker: “Er, yes? Probably. Sorry if I messed it up.”

Me: “Hey, no worries, to be honest, I rarely even use it.”

The man is stood way too close to me, arms folded.

Me: “Oh, and the coffee is perfect, thank you.”

I named my cat Muesli, like the cereal. Not everyone has heard of this kind of cereal, but then again, very few people ever have the need to pronounce my cat’s name, so it doesn’t really matter.

One day, however, I bring Muesli to the vet for his annual checkup. We’re sitting in the waiting room when we hear the vet tech reading from a clipboard.

Vet Tech: “Okay, the vet’s ready to see… uh… is it… Mussolini?”

No. No, it isn’t. I did not name my cat after a fascist dictator.