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Thursday, April 27, 2006

THE NAME GAME

I'd be more upset at my office mate Rajneesh, whom I've known for over a year now, for thinking my name is Tim when it's actually Tom, except that it wasn't until this week that I noticed his mistake. And since few things irk me more than hypocrisy, I'm keeping my mouth shut. I'm waiting the Indian out. I'm dying to know just how long this can go on. I'm recoiling into a stealthy crouch where I'll watch and listen and wait.

Surely, he's heard others call me by my actual name. It happens several times a day. Curiously, he's never emailed me, something that would require the accurate spelling of my name. And it's not as if we don't speak. We've had many in depth conversations about the weather, the office temperature and American history. Until recently, Rajneesh was under the impression that the United States was established as a penal colony under the rule of Great Britain. Fortunately, I was there to set him straight by telling him that America was in fact founded by a group of cockney teens who, sick of being told what to do during their expected life span of 22 years, stole a motorboat from the London docks, sped across the Pacific and landed on Plymouth Rock 14 hours later. No longer oppressed by the King's taxation without representation, they quickly signed the Emancipation Proclamation into law and America was born.

"Thank you so much, Tim. I can believe how misinformed I've been this whole time. I must tell you, I'm quite embarrassed," Rajneesh said.

Right on, Rajneesh.

And speaking of names, I was recently informed that Rob, my boss's new boss, who has an unfortunate habit of calling all male employees situated below him on the organization chart "Dude" (as in "DOOOOODE!"), has escalated the absurdity in the office by referring to my associate co-colleague Kevin as, gulp, "K-Dog." I feel compelled to remind Rob that he is not black nor 20-something nor a current member of any morning drive time Zoo team.

And yet I hold my tongue again. I am in my stealthy crouch. Waiting and watching. Waiting to see what happens next.



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1 Comments:

At 4/28/2006 2:46 PM, Anonymous said...

Yep, K-dawg! I cringe everytime I hear it. What's funny is in High School my buddies (this was before anyone had a posse) called me Kraut Dog. I guess because I looked like the stereotypical German officer in a really bad WWII B movie. I'd hold a joint the way all bad German officers held their cigarrettes when interrogating POW's.

 

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