My name is Cara. 4 letters. That's all. In Italian it means Dear, in Spanish it means Face, but anywhere else in America it is apparently gibberish. This is a problem I have had all my life: Giving a name for a reservation, a drink at Starbucks, or any kind of take out order becomes a horrific process that is both time consuming and traumatizing. Everyone will invariably butcher this very small 4-letter name. I cannot be silent about the oppression of my name any longer.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Airport Starbucks
May 28, 2011
Starbucks
San Diego International Airport
7:00 AM flight to St. Louis from San Diego
A line of people down the corridor just trying to get some coffee.
And the little Asian lady wants to talk to me about my name.
Apparently Kara is her daughter's name. She thinks it is a very beautiful name. So even though I told her mine, unlike her daughters, was spelled with a C, I still recieved this.
That's almost my name. I can't be too mad.
Definitely not as mad as all the exhausted, under-caffeinated people behind me who were held up by this ridiculous conversation and might have missed their flights.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment