I’m looking after my four-year-old nephew for the day. I have recently joined a new bank and have to pop in to sign some paperwork. The bank teller greets me and my nephew.

Teller: “Would you prefer to be addressed as Mr. [Last Name] or [First Name]?”

I’m about to respond when my nephew speaks up with a very serious look on his face.

Nephew: “That’s Uncle [First Name]!”

The teller and I look at each other and try really hard not to laugh.

Teller: “Quite right, sir!”

And that’s why everyone at the bank calls me “Uncle [First Name]”!

I am writing out two distinct forms for two different families looking to borrow vehicles for road trips. As it is the start of the summer, many families tend to come in on one day. The two vehicles in question are very similar in color and make, so it becomes difficult to tell them apart. I have just spent a few minutes with the heads of said families at the desk as I work out who is borrowing which vehicle, complete with mixing up the keys.

Me: *Addressing [Customer #1]* “So, the one you wanted is the [1986 Make], not the [1988 Make]?”

Customer #1: *Laughing in relief* “Yes, that’s the right one!”

Me: “Finally! Well, I hope you are both sorted. I just have to record that the [1986 Make] is the right one!”

Both [Customer #1] and [Customer #2] walk off in different directions. As I write their surnames onto pictures of the particular vehicles, [Customer #3] comes up.

Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Customer #3: *In a calm voice* “How dare you?”

Me: *Confused* “How dare I… what?”

Customer #3: “You know very well, you racist b****!”

He snatches up the photographs and the documentation paperclipped to them as I try to stop him. He approaches [Customer #2]. I start to worry that he might have personal information, so I get up out of my seat to follow him.

Customer #3: *To [Customer #2]* “I am sorry about what this woman has written here.”

Customer #2: *Trying to work out the problem* “What has she written?”

Customer #3: “That racist taunt at the top of the paper! See?”

He almost shoves it in the other customer’s face. I suddenly realize what conclusion [Customer #3] has jumped to. [Customer #1] and his family were a white family with the surname “White,” and [Customer #2] and his family are Chinese and have the surname “Wong.”

Me: “I—”

Customer #3: “No, listen to me! You can not call your customers that! I heard you when you told that other family you’d give them the ‘right’ car!” *To [Customer #2]* “I am very sorry for this woman and if you want me to do so, I will get the manager on your behalf.”

Customer #2: “My name is Wong. [Customer #2] Wong. And my family is waiting outside.”

[Customer #3] went very red. He shoved the papers back at me and stormed out of the building.

Me: “Hello, this is [ISP]. My name is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Did you say your name is [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, hello?”

Customer: “I’m asking you if your name is [My Name].”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, that is my name.”

Customer: “See, I want to cancel my internet now. Because you people are always so rude to me. I don’t need your Internet anymore.” *Muttering to herself* “All this attitude because I asked for your name, come on…”

I had a neutral tone in my voice the entire time. I’ve had other customers ask me to repeat my name multiple times in a similar fashion and they’ve never had an issue. Calls can have audio issues, I understand that. Normally, I would try to do some retention methods, but I was just so taken aback by the response that I just cancelled her. Jeez, lady… all I did was tell you my name.

My mom’s name is two very common names pushed together. Almost nobody can understand her when she says her name. For this reason, she uses a moniker whenever she orders take-out or makes a reservation at a restaurant.

My dad and I have just arrived at the house when she stops me in the driveway. She says we need to pick up dinner that she and my sister ordered from two takeout restaurants that are right next to each other, and she also needs to stop in the market one more door down. When we park, she goes in one, and I go in the other. She tells me she phoned in the order and it was under her moniker, but she never told me what the order was, nor did I think to ask.

Cashier: “Hello, picking up or placing an order?”

Me: “Picking up.”

Cashier: “Okay, what’s the order?”

Me: “It’s under [Moniker].”

Cashier: *Looking* “[Name #1?].”

Me: “No, [Moniker].”

Cashier: “I have a [Name #2]?”

Me: “No. It should be under [Moniker].”

Cashier: “What was the order?”

Me: “I don’t know. All I know is that it was under [Moniker].”

Cashier: “Well, we don’t take names here. I need to know what the order was.”

If you don’t take names, why did you ask for a name and rattle off two more?

I call my mom’s cell phone. No answer. Finally, I see her driving up to the front of the restaurant, confused as to why my hands are empty.

Mom: “Where’s the food?”

Me: “They don’t have an order under [Moniker].”

Mom: “Oh. Well, I never actually gave them my name.”

Me: *Mental head-desk* “What’s the order?”

Mom: “I don’t know. I think it had something with chicken, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise.”

Me: “All right, I’ll go try that.”

I go back inside.

Cashier: “Back?”

Me: “Yep. Sorry about that. She doesn’t remember what she ordered, but she thinks it had chicken, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise.”

Cashier: “Right here! Here you go!”

I paid and left, frustrated with both ends of the party.

Related:
Name Blame Game, Part 5
Name Blame Game, Part 4
Name Blame Game, Part 3
Name Blame Game, Part 2
Name Blame Game

My family moved from a small, traditional island community to a bustling city when I was really young because my parents were offered an opportunity they couldn’t afford to miss. This meant changing schools, meeting new friends, etc.

It is the first day of secondary school for my older brother, and he is nervous, to say the least. His name is Natsei, pronounced “Nat-say,” but everyone calls him “Nat” or “Nats” to avoid the obvious. He is in his first class of the day, English, where the teacher is doing attendance.

Teacher: “Erm… Mr. [Our Last Name]?”

Brother: *Raises his hand* “Here.”

Teacher: “Could I ask, how do you pronounce your name?”

Brother: “You can call me Nat; a lot of people do to avoid what I know you’re thinking about.”

Teacher: “For future reference, however, how do you pronounce your name?”

Brother: “Nat-Say.”

Teacher: “I bet your parents didn’t think that one through, did they?”

Brother: “Considering that it’s a traditional name handed down through my family, I would say they did.”

The teacher ended up calling him by our last name for the rest of his time in school.