The cashier at the register I’m at is a pretty woman whom I estimate to have been born in the early 1980s. She has a simple but elegant wedding ring on, and her name tag reads “Sharona.”

That brings two obvious questions to mind, but not wanting to be That Customer and figuring she’s been asked five-hundred times in the past week, I hold my tongue. 

It must be clear what I want to know, though, because as I’m handing over my cash and collecting my bag of groceries, she says quietly:

Sharona: “Yes, they were, and yes, he does.”

I am working in the photo department of my store. For the past few weeks, we’ve been scrambling to keep up with the myriad of photo and Christmas card orders. Today was probably the most unusual customer pickup I’ve dealt with.

Most of the time, I get their name and order type and send them on their way.

Me: “Hi. Can I have your name?”

Customer: *Immediately* “I don’t know.”

Recognizing that this is not off to a great start, I am a bit flabbergasted at his following response.

Customer: “It could be under any of five aliases.”

Not names, aliases. To further my confusion, he gave me just given names for some, surnames for others. It finally took us taking down his order number, entering that into the computer, and finding what the prints looked liked to match them with a printed order. And it wasn’t under any of the names he’d given us.

[Friend #1] is half Turkish and fairly shy and quiet, and her name is somewhat unusual and has four syllables. We’ve got a new PE teacher who’s from Australia, going by her accent, and has a surname that’s quite typical in the UK but pronounced differently in Australia. She makes a point to highlight that it’s pronounced differently and there will be punishment if we get it wrong. She does the register, and [Friend #1] is near the start.

PE Teacher: “[Unknown Two-Syllable Name]?”

There’s no response.

PE Teacher: “Is she not here?”

Classmate #1: “Never heard of her before, Miss.”

PE Teacher: “[Unknown Two-Syllable Name] [Friend #1’s Surname]?”

Friend #1: *Quietly* “Oh, sorry. Here. My name is [Friend #1].”

The teacher doesn’t notice but continues on. She also butchers an Irish classmate’s name, which said classmate loudly corrects. The lesson starts, and every time she refers to [Friend #1], she calls out the two-syllable name instead. [Friend #1] corrects her quietly every time, but the teacher still doesn’t pay attention. It’s about halfway through and she’s gotten the name wrong about six times now.

PE Teacher: “[Two-Syllable Name].”

Me: *Snapping* “Her name is [Friend #1]! It’s not hard!”

PE Teacher: “Don’t talk to me like that!”

Me: “Don’t repeatedly get someone’s name wrong! She’s told you how her name is pronounced. Get it right!”

PE Teacher: “Well, I pronounce it like [Two-Syllable Name], as that’s the way Australia pronounces it!”

Friend #2: “And? She’s Turkish, not Australian, and we’re in the UK, not Australia. Even then, she pronounces it [Friend #1] and that’s all that matters!”

PE Teacher: “I will pronounce it [Two-Syllable Name] as that is the correct way!”

The class is silent.

PE Teacher: “Nobody correct me again, understand?”

Irish Classmate: “Yes, Miss [UK Pronunciation].”

PE Teacher: “My name is Miss [Australian Pronunciation]!”

Classmate #3: *Catching on quickly* “Yeah, but we pronounce it [UK pronunciation], and as we’re in the UK, I’d say that was the correct way.”

PE Teacher: “It’s not the correct way!”

Classmate #1: “It’s just as correct as you calling [Friend #1] by [Two-Syllable Name].”

Irish Classmate: “Sucks when people don’t bother to learn your name, doesn’t it?”

We all started to do it until the teacher stormed off. We continued doing PE with the guidance of [Classmate #1], who was also taking sport studies as an extracurricular, until another PE teacher — who’s Indian — came over as he saw we were missing a teacher. We were told not to worry about anything after we explained, and we ended up finishing the lesson with the other class since we couldn’t be left unsupervised. It turned out that she had been repeatedly pronouncing names how she wanted, stating it was the Australian way — including the Indian PE teacher’s name. She didn’t last long.

This story is part of our Best Of April 2021 roundup!

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I work for a company which sells DVDs and CDs, among other things. One of our services is that we can order in most movies, etc., as long as you leave us a name, a phone number, and a deposit. When it arrives in store all you do is give your surname and we get it out for you.

A customer comes in on a quiet hour asking to pick up her order, and I go through the usual script.

Me: “Okay, and what surname was that under?”

Customer: “You don’t remember my name?! You made this order for me!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but that was almost three weeks ago. Could I please get your surname?”

Customer: “Okay, fine, the order’s under [Customer].”

While I’m looking in the file for her order, I can hear her huffing and puffing at how long I’m taking, and I realise there is no DVD held under her surname. This isn’t uncommon; sometimes come in meaning to ask IF their order is in but ask as if it already is.

Me: “Okay, there’s nothing here under [Customer]. Did you get your text message to say it was here? Or did the order maybe get placed using your phone number but someone else’s name?”

Customer: “Yes, you idiot! Are you going to keep wasting my time? Of course, I know what my own f****** name is! People like you are the reason the world is the way it is right now, harassing the elderly—”

She’s middle-aged.

Customer: “—and squeezing them for every second and every cent. I’m going to [Other Australian Retailer with a smaller variety of DVDs]! F*** yoouuuuu!”

With this, she left, muttering how useless I was and how dumb I had to be to question whether she knew what her own bloody name was, but not before throwing down her original receipt, which contained the details I needed to find her order.

Her order was under a different name; she’d given me her nickname! I’m not so sure now if she did know her name, after all.

Related:
Failed The Name Game, Part 9
Failed The Name Game, Part 8
Failed The Name Game, Part 7
Failed The Name Game, Part 6
Failed The Name Game, Part 5

I’m doing work experience for a week at a zoo. I’m in the farmyard inside a barn-esque building as people wander around. A boy, no older than seven, approaches the flightless cockatoo who lives inside on a large branch wedged in a pen fence. The cockatoo is named Charlie.

Cockatoo: *Looking at the boy* “Hey, Charlie!”

He says his own name sometimes, as he’s so used to hearing it.

Boy: *Gaping* “Wow! The cockatoo knows my name!”

Me: “Actually, the cockatoo is named Charlie, too. You have the same name!”

I thought this child would be excited, but nope. He tears up and starts absolutely bawling. He seems to be literally having a breakdown.

Boy: “I don’t want to have the same name as a cockatoo!”

I was speechless. The mother came over and, thankfully, apologised and walked away.