Do you ever think your name is a bit plain? Were your parents uninspired or just a bit boring? Have you ever wondered what it might be like to have a more exotic, complicated, lengthy or unpronounceable name?
There’s an easy way to experience the excitement of a new identity without having to fill in a deed poll. All you need to do is go out to your nearest big chain that rhymes with ‘Car lucks’, order a drink and tell the barista your name, and wait to see what the nigh-on illegible scrawl on your coffee cup is.
Those of you with short, sweet and perfectly normal names like Lucy, Sarah, Anne or Dave will find it tough to decipher what’s on that cup. Once you get past the squiggle that’s meant to be someone else’s handwriting, you’re quite likely to find a random ‘h’ or maybe a ‘7’ somewhere in your new name. Perhaps one of the letters will have mysteriously vanished, or moved a couple of places to the left.
People have trouble with saying my name out loud as it is. I’ve been a Katie, Kayleigh, Hayley, Kaddie, and even Kandy, but truly I am a Kady. To this day, I’m still not sure what my parents were thinking, particularly as one of their other potential choices was Brogan. Yep, for a girl. Maybe I’ve actually had a lucky escape there.
When I go to the place that sounds suspiciously like ‘Bar ducks’, I’ve tried just saying that my name is Kay, in the hope they’ll put a large ‘K’ on there and be done with it. Nope. Apparently that sounds too much like Kate now. There can be something a bit disconcerting about carrying a caramel macchiato with someone else’s name on it.
The really fun thing to do is to provide an obviously fake name on purpose, so that your barista will maybe smile and make an even bigger mess of writing it. I strongly suggest and encourage all of the following: Princess Sparkle Rainbow Pixie, 249.8431, Neveah (it’s ‘heaven’ backwards), Emerald, Hypatia, PO Box 34A and Quvenzhané. The typographer in me is waiting for the best time to tell some poor unsuspecting man in a green apron that my birth certificate has ‘Helvetica’ on it.
Only one person has ever managed to get my name right. I’d started off by saying my name was Steve, to try and just get my coffee and be done with it. He asked if I was really a Steve, because I sure didn’t look anything like a Steve, and I explained the problem I have with my real name.
He replied, “Oh, honey, it’s okay, I get it – I’m from San Francisco!”, and he promptly put a perfect K-a-d-y on the side of my frappuccino in gorgeously legible cursive. I didn’t even need to spell it out. At times like that, I’m definitely okay with being a Kady and not a Brogan.
