It’s 2002, and I’m the treasurer of my eleventh-grade class. One day, the other officers — president, vice president, and secretary — and I are getting some letters ready to mail to the parents of our fellow students. One of the other officers starts laughing.

Officer #1: “Look at this name! It’s so funny!”

She shows us an envelope with “Buzz” on it as the first name of someone’s dad. The other two officers join in the laughter.

Me: “It’s unusual, but it’s the name of an astronaut.”

Officer #2: “Really?”

Officer #3: “Oh, right; Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story.”

Me: “No, Buzz Aldrin.”

They stare blankly.

Me: “Apollo 11?”

They continue to stare blankly.

Me: “The second man on the moon, after Neil Armstrong? I know we all learned about it in history; we were in the same class.”

Officers: *Unconvincingly* “Oh, right, right. Him. Yes, I remember.”

I don’t think they actually remembered.

My name can be easily shortened to a nickname, but I go by the full name. I’m a receptionist in a medical office with two other people who have the same full name, but it’s never an issue because one is a doctor and the other, the office manager, goes by the nickname. It’s pretty easy for us to tell from context who’s needed. For sake of storytelling, let’s say we’re all named Katherine; I go by Katherine, the doctor goes by Katherine, and the office manager goes by Katie.

One day, a nurse comes up to my desk while I’m filing some things. My desk is across the hall from the office manager.

Nurse: “Katie?”

Silence. The manager might not be in her office.

Nurse: “Katie?”

Silence.

Nurse: “Katie!”

Silence.

The nurse leans over my desk and taps my shoulder. 

Nurse: “KATIE!”

Me: *Confused* “What? Are you trying to ask me something?”

Nurse: “Yes! I need to know if our next patient is checked in yet.”

Me: “No, no one’s checked in.”

Nurse: “Okay, thanks… Why didn’t you answer me when I said your name?”

Me: “Because my name’s not Katie. I thought you were looking for the office manager.”

Nurse: “You don’t go by Katie?”

Me: “No, I never have… which is why people have been calling me Katherine for the year I’ve worked here.”

She’d been calling me by my full name for months; I’m not sure why she forgot then!

At the start of the second grade, when I am around seven or eight, my class has its first music class of the year. Our regular teacher takes us down to the music room, and we go in to meet our music teacher. She is very friendly and introduces herself with a little speech.

Teacher: “Some of you might have noticed that I only look at you with one of my eyes. I know people get curious about that, so I’ll tell you why right now: this eye—”

She taps the one not “looking” at us.

Teacher: “—is a fake eye made of glass. I had cancer when I was a child so doctors had to take out my real eye, and I have this one, instead. I’m not telling you because I want you to feel sorry for me; I’m doing just fine with one glass eye and one real eye. I just don’t want you to be scared and confused… like when I was your age and also had a teacher with a glass eye, but he didn’t tell the class. One day, the principal needed to talk to him. Right before he left the classroom, he took out his glass eye, put it on his desk, and told us, ‘I’ll be right back, but I’m keeping my eye on you.'”

Looking back, I appreciate her honesty and how understanding she was of childhood curiosity… but I also wonder if it was hard for her to resist pulling the same prank as her teacher did!

I’m at our main ticket booth, and the captain for one of our private charter cruises is hanging out waiting for his guests to arrive. He witnesses my encounter with a phenomenally stupid guest and my obvious urge to beat my head against a wall.

Captain: “So, what are your coping mechanisms for dealing with wanting to yell at guests?”

Me: “The certain knowledge that if I yell at guests I’ll probably get fired.”

Coworker: “Anxiety.”

Me: “Yeah. Anxiety.”

Captain: “I’m not sure I like those answers.”

I’m working at the main ticket booth of a local sightseeing cruise company. The booth faces landward with our docks behind it. Guests line up in designated queues in the courtyard to wait for boarding, and we lead them down the ramp and onto the dock. I am finishing a reservation for a guest.

Me: “We’ll begin boarding at 11:45 from that line in the courtyard.”

I point to the line. The guest doesn’t see it.

Guest: “Where?”

Me: “Right there. You’re looking right at it.”

The guest then points at the courtyard.

Guest: “Is that where the boat is going to be?”