This story reminded me of a very similar situation that happened in the mid- to late 1990s. I was the email administrator and lead support person for a small (~150 people) branch within a much larger company.

The company standard email naming convention was the employee’s last name (up to seven characters) followed by their first initial. Therefore, somebody named John Smith would be assigned the email address “smithj at [Company] dot com.” This worked all right, but exceptions often had to be made because somebody else (e.g., Jane Smith) might already have “smithj,” leaving John with “jsmith” or some other variation.

We had a secretary who had worked in one office for decades — a sweet older lady who had never used a computer before. But times were changing, and even though she could type something close to ninety words per minute on an electric typewriter, she had recently been given a computer and was doing her best to learn how to use it properly. It was my task to get her account created and configure her email client software.

However, I anticipated a problem before account creation and went to discuss it with her.

I’m shortening her first name to just her first initial, T, for this story, but I can’t change her last name without ruining the story.

Me: “T, typically [Company] email addresses are formatted as your last name followed by your first initial. But we can and do make exceptions when it’s warranted, so I’m going to switch it around for you — first initial followed by last name, instead. Okay?”

T: “Oh, no. I don’t want to break the rules. Just use the same format everybody else has.”

Me: “It’s really no problem. Even my email address doesn’t match the standard naming convention, because somebody else already had mine when I started here.”

T: “No, I don’t want any fuss made. Please follow the rules.”

She seemed so earnest that I felt sure she must not have realized what “following the rules” would entail. But I felt like it would be rude if I pressed her on the issue — as if I was saying she shouldn’t be allowed to decide for herself. A little reluctantly, I did as she asked. 

It took only two days before she caught me in the hallway and pulled me to the side. She had a worried look on her face. 

T: “I’ve changed my mind. Can you fix my email now to switch my first initial and last name around, or is it too late?”

Me: “No problem, T. I’ll have it changed in ten minutes.”

And that’s how Ms. T. Farr ended up with the email address “tfarr at [Company] dot com” instead of the alternative.

Related:
You’ve Got A Whale Of A Problem

A woman runs into the store and doesn’t even look around. Instead, she runs straight up to the counter.

Customer: “Do you have that game? It sounds like a Mexican cleaner or something.”

Me: “A Mexi… what? No, I don’t think we have it.”

Customer: “I think it’s like Rosa, or Maria, or something? All the kids are playing it!”

Me: “I’m afraid I really don’t know what game you’re referring to. Maybe if—”

Customer: “Little fat guy, jumping up and down! My son really wants it!”

Me: “Uh… do you mean Mario?”

Customer: “That’s the one! Yes, one Maria, please.”

Me: “I can get you Mario, ma’am.”

Customer: “It’s not all in Spanish, is it? My son already learned too much from the housekeeper; I don’t want him to replace his English with it.”

I’m a seventy-year-old man. I’m a little over six feet tall and a little over two-hundred pounds. It’s early November, and I’m in a long line at a popular fast food restaurant. I have a very full white beard.

The employee is a young lady taking orders at her terminal, and she doesn’t look up.

Employee: “What would you like to eat?”

I give my order.

Employee: “And what name for the order?”

Me: “Santa.”

She looks up for just a second. 

Employee: “I’ll allow it.”

She types that on my receipt, and I go to wait with a group of ten others. A few minutes later, I get a bag of food handed to me. The young man giving me the bag says:

Other Employee: “I didn’t have to ask for a name because I knew it was for Santa.”

I’m twenty years old. My office is very laid back, and even more so during the holidays. A famously dim coworker can’t remember the name of a famous Christmas story and is calling out across the office.

Coworker #1: “What’s the name of the one with… Bob Marley?”

Silence. Confusion? Probably muffled snickers.

I figure it out and kneel up on my desk to look her in the eye over the cubicle wall.

Me: “JACOB. Jacob Marley. A Christmas Carol.”

A few minutes later, another coworker speaks up.

Coworker #2: “Tonight you will be visited by three Buffalo soldiers…”

I work for an insurance company in the department where we deal with cases and either approve or deny them. We do not sell.

One of our most common processes is paying out for life insurance. If the customer dies, the executor can contact us and start the case. To continue with the case, we need certain documents, e.g., the death certificate.

In certain cases, we have to ask the police for the death certificate — no need for a crime to have been involved. If the police in any way have been involved with the discovery of the person in question, they will have the needed documents.

This was the issue in this particular case. I was working when the police called.

Me: “[Insurance Company], [My Name], how can I help you?”

Police: “Hi. We have received your request for the death certificate of this person.”

They gave me the needed case number, so I could find the customer.

Police: “But the person is not dead.”

Me: *Totally baffled* “Wait… What? They’re not dead?”

Police: “No, this person is most definitely alive.”

Me: “Are you really sure that it’s the same person? Can you say the name again?”

Police: “[Customer’s Unique First Name], [Customer’s Birthdate].”

Me: “Wow… This has never happened before… What are the last digits in the ID number?”

They gave a number that did not match the one in our system.

Me: “Wait, that is not the same as I’m seeing here. The ID number here is [number]. Are you able to find them?”

Police: “Wait… Yes. Now I found them. Okay, that person is actually dead.”

Yes, it really turned out that there were TWO people with the same very unique first name and the exact same birth date — but different last digits in their ID. This had never happened before, neither to us nor the police. We had a good laugh about it.

To be fair, the almost-mistake most likely happened because we are not allowed to give the full ID number through our written contact method with the police, thanks to GDPR (General Data Protection Regulation). The bosses are working on making this kind of things easier, but as most should know, needed changes for customer service are rarely prioritized over other things in big companies.