Natasha and I were at our favorite neighborhood bar, crammed up against a wall, cautiously sipping our drinks while trying to avoid all the people shoving their way to the bathroom. Nat saw a couple guys paying their tab, so we hovered behind their stools until they left.
“Now that’s more like it,” Nat said, as she hung up her coat on the hook under the bar.
We saw one of the regular bartenders, and he stopped over to say hello. “So where’s Peter tonight?”
After a pause that bordered on uncomfortable, Nat said, “Oh, he’s out with co-workers.”
“Ah, so it’s girls’ night out, huh? Well, welcome!”
He refilled our waters and then moved down to the end of the bar to mix up some chocolate martinis for a group of four men.
I turned to Nat and asked, “Who the hell is Peter?”
“He means Farnsworth.”
“But he calls him Peter?”
“Yeah. And I’m Melissa.”
“And you don’t tell him your real names? How did that happen?”
“I don’t know… they got it wrong one time and it just kind of stuck. I tried to gently correct him a couple times, but I guess he didn’t hear me.”
I shook my head and laughed, because the reality was that I knew exactly how it happened. It happened the same way that I came to be known as Faith by a well-intentioned co-worker.
Unlike Peter and Melissa, Faith actually exists. She’s a co-worker of mine who vaguely resembles me with her brown curly-esque hair. The first time he called me Faith, I thought I just heard him wrong. Faith was in the conference room with me, so I assumed he must have just been talking to her. While looking directly at me.
But then I would pass him in the halls and say hello, and he’d respond in a mumbly voice, “Hello… Faith.” I would already be on my way to the next meeting, so it never seemed the right time to correct him.
A few months ago, I was on the street corner outside our building waiting for the light to change when I heard someone say, “Hi Faith!” I recognized his voice, but forced myself to remain motionless. “My name is not Faith, and I will not respond to it,” I thought. “That will only encourage him.” Through my keen peripheral vision, I could feel his smile fade as he waited for a reciprocal hello that would never materialize.
So now he thinks I’m an impolite boor. Or rather, he thinks Faith is an impolite boor, which I suppose is a little better. Unfortunately, this has gone on for two years now, so I think the statute of limitations for correcting him has long since expired. If it continues for another two years, I may begin answering to the name Faith and instead pretend that I am partially deaf.
As I think about it, I worry a bit that I may have a forgettable face, because I also had a friend who continually got my name wrong. She thought I was Natasha and Natasha was me.
“How’s Jenny doing? I haven’t seen her in a while,” she would ask me. At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized that she thought I was Natasha.
“Do you mean Nat? She’s doing fine,” I would respond. But maybe she thought I was being ironic.
It wasn’t until Nat starting dating Farnsworth that the situation righted itself. It all came down to a simple logic puzzle: if a) Natasha dates Farnsworth and b) Jenny is terminally single and c) Natasha and Farnsworth do not have an open relationship, then d) that woman kissing Farnsworth must be Natasha.
Maybe the only solution is for me to start openly dating someone at work so that I become a work-couple. I’ll make sure everyone refers to us as a unit:
“Jenny and Alex are going to the holiday party, so I’m definitely going.”
“Did you see Jenny and Alex volunteering at the blood drive? They’re really a caring couple.”
“Hey, I heard Jenny and Alex came up with a great new product idea last week while they were making dinner together. Because they’re dating each other.”
Once everyone in the company thinks of us as a single life force, I’ll make a point of making out with Alex in front of my co-worker who calls me Faith. Then he’ll have to put two and two together and figure out that I am Jenny, and not, in fact, that insensitive lout Faith.
I suppose to some, it would seem that a plan that spans multiple years and requires the support of hundreds of co-workers may not represent the most direct approach, but I’m confident that this will spare my colleague the humiliation of having me call to his attention this faux-pas. Plus with my plan, there’s kissing. Now I just need to wait until we hire someone named Alex.

Filed under: General on December 10th, 2007