A few years back, I made a website for a client who worked in security. Some weeks later, I got a call from a potential client via that site.

As it turned out, the potential client worked in security, too, and was [Original Client]’s competitor. He also had the same name as the client who I made the first website for.

Potential Client: “I found that site you made for [Original Client]. I really like it and would like you to make one like that for me, too.”

Me: “That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you already have any ideas about what you need or want?”

Potential Client: “No, no, I want a site just like the one you made for [Original Client].”

Me: “Well, since you work in the same field, with the same name, we should at least make the design clearly different.”

Potential Client: “No, I like the design. Make me one just like that. Just without the danger of confusion.”

One class has collectively decided to rescue a small colony of guinea pigs that need a new home. They’re not my students, but choosing names has become a schoolwide discussion.

Teacher: “Hey, did you hear that they finally named the guinea pigs?”

She shows me a printout of each guinea pig with a nametag.

Teacher: “Meet Jeremy, Little [Principal], Potato, Elizabeth Bennet, and McDonnell Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle.”

Me: “Uh… did [Principal] okay that?”

Teacher: “Yeah, she’s fine with it.”

Me: “And you know my second question, right?”

Teacher: “Yeah… Okay, so, the deal was that if they all got 95% or higher on the final last semester, they could replace a lecture with any topic. They chose fighter jets.”

Me: “And you did that the same day as name voting?”

Teacher: “I probably should have intervened, but the Elizabeth Bennet block and the Strike Eagle block started negotiating, and we turned it into a hands-on lesson on electoral politics.”

We tried to shorten the guinea pig’s name to “Mac”. The students were NOT having it.

I work in a call center taking mostly political surveys over the phone. I can end up calling any state depending on what the survey’s about. Today, I’m calling New York. I have a Scandinavian first name and Semitic last name — let’s say it’s Anna Ruben for this story.

Me: “Hello, may I please speak with [Respondent]?”

The person on the other end of the line is an older woman with a New York Yiddish accent.

Woman: “Who is this?”

Me: “My name is Anna Ruben, and I’m from [Business]. May I speak with [Respondent], please?”

Woman: *Sounding very pleased* “Of course!” *Calling out* “[Respondent]! There’s a good Jewish girl on the phone for you!”

This story was related to me by my father, who makes a living selling paper and stationery to typographies and similar establishments in our area.

Paper varies in thickness, color, and other characteristics, and each type has a (sometimes pretty imaginative) commercial name. My father has had this job for most of his life and is pretty adept at recommending the right kind of paper for the use you intend to make of it, e.g., printing books versus posters versus business cards.

One fateful day, he gets a large order from a client who is known to be… difficult, to put it politely. The man runs a small, family-owned business with his wife, who is originally from a Spanish-speaking South American country where it is quite normal even for younger people to be deeply religious, as opposed to Italy, where the more devout people tend to be an older demographic. (Her faith and her mother tongue are both relevant to the story.)

Not knowing what is about to happen, my father listens to the client’s specifications and makes his recommendation, which is accepted without issue.

When the material is delivered to the client’s address, however, he is away, and it is the wife who oversees the unloading of the paper from the truck… only to find out, to her horror, that the commercial name printed in big letters on the packages is “Diablo”, i.e. “Devil” in Spanish.

Wife: “How dare you?! Take that away! You’re not bringing the devil into my house!”

The screaming tirade goes on for a while, leaving the poor delivery driver quite shaken, and the woman flat-out refuses to let anything so evil as a few sheaves of paper called “Diablo” past her threshold.

When an order is turned away, the company’s protocol is to follow up with the client to find out what was wrong with it: was it damaged, did they send the wrong items, etc.? The follow-up phone call goes more or less like this.

Husband: “How dare you insult my wife’s beliefs like that?! You never should have delivered that stuff! I’ll never buy from you again!”

Er… okay. Never mind that HE made the order and must have known the product name would upset her. It was apparently the company’s job to use a crystal ball to know that the client’s wife would be in that day and that her religion wouldn’t allow her to accept items with a name relating to the devil. My father’s decision to recommend “Diablo” paper must have been intentionally offensive.

I’m all for respecting people’s beliefs, but what did they expect the paper to do, spontaneously catch fire? I guess we’ll never know…

Related:
The Devil’s In The Details

I work in a national answering service for medical equipment and supplies. I get a call from a customer who is irate from the get-go for some reason.

After I’ve spent a couple of minutes trying to get the customer’s information…

Customer: “May I speak to your supervisor?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I just need to gather some infor—”

Customer: “Did you hear me? I need your supervisor. Now!”

Me: “Yes, but I need your name at the very least, ma’am.”

Customer: “That’s it, a**hole. You’re getting fired. Supervisor, now!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I will not transfer you to my supervisor without a name.”

After a minute of silence, I hear her get nervous before mumbling her name.

Me: “Sorry, couldn’t hear that.”

Customer: *Very softly* “…ren.”

Me: “Ren? R-E-N?”

Customer: “…”

Me: “Still there?”

Customer: *Softly* “Karen.”

It made my day.