My Secret Identity

Growing up, it was clear that I had an unusual name. Not unusual in that it was difficult to say or spell (theoretically), but it was uncommon. I was a monosyllabic, consonent-heavy girl, living in a world dominated by multiple syllables ending in A or I. Pretty, cutesy names, for which there were endless nickname variations. My name was short already, with no need to be simplified.

For all of the simplicity, though, it has proven to be a very difficult name for people to understand. I’ve been called Mel, Neil, Noel, Elle…anything but my actual name. And as thousands of other people can attest, if you have a name that is anything but extraordinarily common (and even when you do), the baristas at Starbucks will mangle it. I went along with it, knowing that no matter how many times I spelled it for the person at the register, the person at the bar would read it wrong—that’s the charm of Starbucks, right?

Until the final straw, which you can see above. I documented it so that I can pull it up like a party trick when people refuse to believe that anyone could mess up my name. What makes me laugh the hardest is that it was written twice, with such conviction. This was after I said and spelled it. Twice.

After that, I was done. I needed to rebrand myself. I tried out a few different options, looking for something that had one spelling, was common enough that it was recognizable, but not so common someone else might pick up my drink. I finally found one, and miraculously it’s only been messed up once.

Nice to meet you, I’m Ginger.