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.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Divine Intervention
March 9, 2012
Starbucks
Century City, CA
I am loving that the name is spelled right.
But why did the barista feel compelled to also draw a little cross on the bottom?
Perhaps God sent her a message down from the heavens and told her how to correctly spell my name?
The lord works in mysterious ways.
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