My mother has been looking for a customized Christmas gift for my step-dad for a while. His name is Mark, which is fairly common, so there are a lot of options. She decides to go for one that isn’t just the name, to make it a little more special.

On Christmas morning, my step-dad unwraps a coffee mug and reads it out. 

Step-Dad: “‘The man, the myth, the legend…’”

My mom smiles wide, happy that the gift arrived on time.

Step-Dad: “‘…Kyle.'”

My mom was devastated that the wrong name was printed on the mug, but the rest of us were dying laughing. The Kyle mug is proudly displayed in our kitchen.

My name is Faith and I am a cashier. I actually have to change my name on my name tag to my nickname due to a couple of customers.

One lady constantly brings me religious pamphlets, but worse is one man who came up to the till and held up my line by praying over me. He then tries to grab my hands!

Me: “If you touch me, I will see you in Hell.”

He didn’t like my response!

I’ve been working with a graphic design company for a few months. Apart from the initial concept I provided, I think I’ve been in touch with them twice: once to approve a draft and again to confirm a revision, both times via email. It’s taken a long time, even with clear initial instructions and a very minor revision, so we are already late against their schedule.

My main contact, Andy, convinces me to go down to their office as they have the first test prints back from the printer. I don’t like taking the afternoon off work, but Andy tells me it will be worth it as they can rush through any changes needed.

Me: “I’m here to meet Andy.”

Receptionist: “Andy?”

Me: “Andy [Last Name].”

Receptionist: “We don’t have anyone who works here by that name, sir.”

Me: “What? How can that be? I don’t have my laptop with me, but look, I have an email on my phone. Look, Andy [Last Name].”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t call someone who doesn’t work here. Maybe try emailing them?”

Andy is always slow to answer emails and always makes an excuse when I ask for a phone number. With no other option, I emailed Andy and hoped they’d see it.

Twenty minutes later, the receptionist told me she didn’t know who else to call — it was a common last name and I guess she had too many to call all of them — and that I should probably leave. 

I wrote an angry email to Andy for wasting my time. Two hours later, I got a one-line apology. Andy is actually Andrea, but everyone knows her as Andy. She admitted that she “probably” should have let the receptionist know.

I got the prints eventually, and they didn’t have the revision we agreed on, so there was another delay.

I found another company to work with after that.

This happened back in the 1990s. For a couple of years, during the summer, I did residential voluntary work at a charity holiday home for the elderly and disabled, until the charity sadly had to sell the property. It was the opportunity for couples and individuals to go away for two weeks and have other people help look after them.

There were a lot of volunteers, and we were each assigned to one or two guests to provide as much help as they needed throughout the day and night. We were also expected to help other guests if their volunteers were not available. There was always at least one fully trained nurse or doctor on the premises at all times.

It was hard work, but I loved every minute of it… except possibly that time I was woken up at 2:00 am by the nurse to help change my guest’s sheets, as they were urine-soaked. He’d not wet the bed, but the idiot who emptied his catheter the evening before had forgotten to close the tap. But before anyone says the nurse should have woken up the idiot and gotten him to clear up the mess, I can assure you she did. Let’s just say that half-asleep me soon woke up and was very apologetic. Both the guest and his wife were all right about it; it wasn’t the first time that had happened to them, and I made certain I didn’t do that again!

To say this next thing was an annoyance would be a massive overstatement. It was more a mild frustration that quickly become a bit of a running joke: no one could remember my name. We all had name badges — those plastic types with a removable card. Mine clearly said, “Stephen”, but I was always called “Simon”. Everyone else was called by the right name, but for some reason, no one could remember mine.

I didn’t get cross, nor did I blame anyone. It could be because of their eyesight or memory; that’s hardly their fault. I did always politely correct them, which worked briefly, but by the next time they saw me, I had reverted back to being Simon. One of the biggest “offenders” was a lovely gentleman who was recovering from a stroke. It was all taken in good humour, but I really did want people to stop calling me Simon.

So, after a day or two of this, I removed the card, turned it over, and wrote, “NOT SIMON”. And it worked! They stopped calling me Simon!

Everyone — the staff, the volunteers, and the guests (especially Lovely Recovering Stroke Chap) — happily called me “Not Simon” instead. Ah, well.

And as an epilogue, LRS Chap improved incredibly well over the course of his holiday. He was wheelchair-bound at the start, but after every meal, he would try walking a few steps. He went from only managing three or four steps at the start of the holiday to managing over one hundred unassisted steps by the end!

Me: “You have reached [Hotel]. My name is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi, I’m trying to get in touch with my girl. Can you put me through?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I will need to know the guest’s name in order to forward your call.”

Caller: “I just told you, my girl.”

Me: “I apologize again but I will need to know your girl’s name if you would like to reach her room.”

Caller: “Her? Girl? What?… I’m trying to reach Mike Earl. Michael Earl!”