August 1/13

Yeah, I know have one of those unusual names, and I should be used to people not getting it.  The conversation usually goes something like this:

Them: Can I get your name?
Me: Fancy.
Them: Fanny? (Or Nancy?) (Or Francie?)
Me: Fancy.  With an F.
Them: *quizzical look*
Me: F-A-N-C-Y.
Them: Oh, Fancy.  Sorry.

And I really wish I was exaggerating, but this conversation can and will happen as many as five times a week.  Especially if I go to Starbucks for coffee.

You see, more than a year ago, Starbucks dreamed up this hideous torture for anyone not named 'Joe': they insist on asking for a name for your cup.  Does it prevent some drinks being taken by mistake?  I have no doubt.  But really, I think it's a secret plot by an evil corporation that is hellbent on fucking with me at the start of my day.  I'm at my least charming and patient in the morning, so this is really not the time to go fucking with me.

Today, I went to the Starbucks at Chapters on Rideau, and ordered my usual beverage and croissant.  When asked for my name, I hesitated (as usual), and then gave it.  The floating barista didn't bat an eyelash and started writing.  I knew she thought she was mishearing me, and instead of clarifying with me, she continued writing and passed my cup off to the bar barista.

I knew there were two drinks ahead of mine, and they were not similar, so I knew when my drink was being called, it was for me, but as I suspected, the drink was called for 'Nancy.'  I ignored it.  The bar barista looked worried, and peered over the counter for 'Nancy' before she noticed that it was for me.  Unsure, she meekly called the drink again, "Caramel Macchiato for Nancy?"

I took the cup and snapped at her that the drink was mine, but my name is Fancy, and why is it so hard to get right.  She offered a meek apology, looking at her colleagues for some help with the situation, but before she could get any, I told her it wasn't her fault, muttered an apology and stalked off to get on the bus.

You know, I have a friend who has recently completed his Ph.D. in Philosophy, and he once discussed his work on (and I know I'm going to fuck this up because I was tired and drinking, so, sorry in advance, O!) the value of an individual's name in identity.  It's research that struck a chord with me because of the tormented history of my name interacting with society.  I think of this whenever I'm asked why I don't just go by another name. 

But at 8:30 am, before I've had my coffee and breakfast, all I know is that it's my fucking name, and if you are going to ask me for it, then get it wrong, I'm going to respond with a level of irritation that will make everyone uncomfortable.

 Starbucks, any time you want to stop fucking with those of us with unusual names, I'm ready for it.

There has to be a better way...

...Wish you were here.