Am I a name whore?

My name is Sarah, but people sometimes call me nicknames for short.  There's Sa, Sasa, Sazzy, Que Sa-rah Sa-rah...and when I was a toddler my mosquito-like demeanor led my Dad to (lovingly) refer to me as "The Human Fly."

But at times I have allowed people to call me by, well...other names.

Actually, this seems to happen to me a lot.

There was the period last year when I allowed Juan* from work to refer to me as Sandra for about a month.  This guy and I were buddies, I was really surprised when he first called me by the wrong name.  I guess I was hoping I could just ignore it and go about my business.  But that's not how the universe works, is it?  It got to the point where he'd pass my desk and playfully call out "Hi, Sandra!" in a sing-song voice.  Oh dear.

I was going to have to address this.  What if somebody heard?  After all, wasn't this exactly what being a grown-up was all about, being mature enough to handle situations such as this with grace and poise?

I never said anything.  The situation was finally resolved when he called me Sandra in front of another coworker, Denise*.  Denise looked at him like he was crazy and said "Sandra?  Who's Sandra?  Are you talking about Sarah?  Juan, her name is Sarah, not Sandra."

Ok, so I felt ashamed.  Here I was in my late twenties and still too meek to correct a coworker for calling me by the wrong name.  Ugh!

After the Sandra fiasco I thought I had learned my lesson.  After all, what's the big deal, just tell the person they're wrong, right?  Of course right.

Well...a few Thursdays ago another person at my work cheerfully greeted me by saying, "Hey Erin, how are you today?"  Oh poo.  Couldn't I just ignore this?  I could ignore this, right?  Please oh please God, maybe he just made a little mistake and he'll go back to his office and realize that Erin is someone else, not me.  I'm Sarah, remember?

You know, this has been happening to me forever.  I can still remember someone calling out "Hey, Stace!" in Jr. High.  I remember thinking, "Well, it's kinda nice that she used a shortened version...she must like me if she called me Stace instead of Stacey..."

Pa-pa-pa-pathetic?  A bit.

The irony is, I am really good with names!  Once I can actually remember your name I will use it all the time.  I'm like a greasy politician in that respect.  People have noticed this skill and have even remarked upon it. 

I was never afraid to address my in-laws, even when their son and I were only dating and living in sin.  I started off with Mr. and Mrs., and then easily made the transition to calling them by their first names when they asked me to.  I just enjoy calling people by their names.  And not everybody is comfortable doing this; if you think about it, it's actually quite easy to glide through life without ever having to call anybody anything at all.

Personally, I love to be called by my name.  Do you know there have been times when I've spent an entire day without ever being addressed by name?  I have even recently requested my amazingly loving hubby to call me "baby" less and Sarah more.  There's just something comforting about being called by my own name.  Do you agree?  Or am I crazy?

As good as I am with names, from time to time even I eff up.  There's this guy Joe* at work who I've been calling Mike all year.  Why Mike?  I don't know, I thought his name was Mike!  I apologized when I finally realized my faux pas.  "Joe!"  I said.  "I'm usually so good with names, I can't believe I've been calling you Mike!  I wish you had said something!"  He just shrugged and said it was ok and he genuinely didn't seem to give a good crap one way or the other.  But let's face it, it's a little weird he never said anything.

Oh. God.  Am I Mike?  Joe, whatever the hell his name is?  Am I nothing but a name whore, answering to whatever anybody feels like calling me at any given moment?  And not only that, answering with a smile?  Why on earth can't I just effing correct people?

A few days ago at work I ran into the same man again.  I held my breath and hoped he had figured out my real name.  He hadn't.  "Erin, it seems like we keep meeting in the elevator, huh?" 

Here it was.  This was my chance.  My big chance.  Come on, be an adult, Sarah, be a fucking adult.

"Guess we're elevator buddies again today!"  was all I could muster.  Ah, shit.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

Sincerely,

Erin

* Names have been changed to protect the innocent.  And my job.