I used to work at the front desk of a private university. There was one other person in my position and we would swap off on morning and evening shifts. There were about two and a half hours where our shifts would overlap and it was around that time that the mail arrived.

My first coworker had a very long last name that wasn’t easy to spell, so when our delivery guy found out my last name was only five letters, he would just use my name to confirm delivery.

When that coworker left for another job, the new coworker had an equally long — but somehow harder to spell — last name, so the delivery guy continued using my name for confirmation while the three of us joked about it.

Fast forward a few months. I’d just gotten married and I was back in the office for the first time since when the delivery guy came by.

Delivery Guy: “Hey, you’ve been gone a while. It’s [Maiden Name], right?”

Me: “Actually, I just got married. It’s now [Longer Name that’s hard to spell].”

The guy looked up from his tablet, distraught.

Delivery Guy: “Why would you do that to me?!”

I work at a call center that works directly with a specialty physician’s office. We’re basically here so that the people who work in that office aren’t overloaded with checking patients in and out, taking and making calls, dealing with insurances, and refilling medications.

I always try to keep a cheery disposition because the stuff our patients deal with is not easy and often leads to chronic pains along with being immunocompromised. Most patients really love this, as it helps cheer them up and helps me build rapport.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Specialty]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you today?”

Caller: “[Wrong Pronunciation Of My Name]?”

Me: “Actually, it’s [My Name].”

Caller: “[Second Wrong Pronunciation]?”

This isn’t unusual. My name is often confused with others due to the spelling and pronunciation so it’s often misheard and I just try to accept it to move on.

Me: *Chuckling* “Ha, don’t worry about it. You can just call me [Easy-To-Pronounce Nickname].”

Caller: *In a mocking tone* “F****** h***, quit your laughing. You’re at work, for Christ’s sake.”

Me: *Taken aback* “I-I, err, sor—”

Caller: “You know what? F*** this. I’ll just f****** call back later.”

With that, she hung up. I was left wondering the rest of the day where it was that I went wrong. Can’t win them all, I guess.

Years ago, I worked at a busy, corporate sit-down burger restaurant. One day, I’m hustling through the lunch rush, and I have six college guys sit down. One guy flags me over right away.

Customer: *Loudly* “We’re ready to order!”

Me: “What are you guys having?”

Customer: *Smirking* “Guys? Guys? That doesn’t sound like a very professional greeting to me. I work at a restaurant, too, and if I walked up to a table and asked, ‘What are you guys having?’ my manager would definitely let me know that was inappropriate.”

The other guys at the table look kind of uncomfortable at this exchange and just silently sit there. The main guy looks around at all of them and keeps going.

Customer: “Why don’t you come up to us again and do it right?”

I’m looking around at my massive section of tables and getting the distinct feeling I’m going to be at this table forever. I’m trying not to lose my cool, so I smile.

Me: “Sure.”

I take several steps back and walk up again.

Me: “Gentlemen, how are you all doing? Ready to order?”

The main guy smirks and nods. I look directly at him.

Me: “How about you, chief? What are you having today?”

Some of the other guys laugh. He looks angrily at me but orders his burger and a drink. I get everyone’s order and hustle off.

I return with drinks a little while later. I set everyone’s drinks down and do the main guy last.

Me: “Here you go, boss.”

I leave before he can say anything. Through the course of their meal, I call him a different nickname every time.

Me: “You need a refill, pal?”

Me: “How’s your burger, buddy?”

Me: “Need more ketchup, bro?”

Me: “Can I get that plate out of your way, dude?”

Me: “Any dessert for you, amigo?”

Me: “Need me to split your check, brother?”

Me: “Make sure to leave me one signed copy, muchacho.”

By this time, this guy is boiling. His friends are loving it, though. As time has gone on, the rest of them keep looking at me expectantly. What nickname next?

Finally, they all get up to leave. The lunch rush has ended and I’m chilling at this point. I casually walk up to them.

Me: “Thank you, gentlemen, for coming in.”

The rest of the group is smiling. I look at the main guy.

Me: “And you… you have a fantastic day… hoss.”

The rest of the guys cheered. They all headed out. I grabbed all their receipts on the table. Surprise, surprise, the main guy left me zero for a tip. I didn’t care. It was all worth it.

There are many horror stories about the Italian mail service, but there are exceptions.

A friend of my father lives in a city with 100,000 inhabitants and ten post offices. In those days when mail was sorted by hand and area codes were unheard of, he received a postcard that did not have his name or street address.

What it did have — the only identifying information it had — was a drawing of his nickname: an ice-pick.

My new boyfriend has been married before, as have I. He has a beautiful tattoo on his shoulder of a scrollwork cross with his former wife’s first initial in flowing script. One day, we are just sitting and talking, and the tattoo comes up, since I want to get one eventually.

He looks down and speaks quietly.

Boyfriend: “I guess I should get that removed, right?”

Me: “Of course not! It’s a beautiful work of art and represents an important part of your life.”

Boyfriend: “But every time you see it, you’ll be reminded of her.”

Me: *Gently but grinning* “Honey… what’s my first initial?”

He thinks for a moment and then remembers it’s the same and laughs.

Boyfriend: “So, instead of [Ex-Wife] it can stand for [My Name]!”

We had a good laugh, but the weird part came later. I was talking with a friend who knows about [Boyfriend]’s tattoo. Even after I explained the coincidence, she actually argued with me that I should make him remove it to “prove his love” to me. I suddenly had somewhere very important to be and we’ve barely spoken since.