The things I write here usually are serious topics that strike me or are relevant to society or a subset of our community, or I write something of major significance in some way, larger than just me I like to say. Today, this post is none of that. I remembered a funny little anectdote that I want to share.
Several years ago, there was a lady at work who would always called me Tyrone. Doris Robb was her name. I have no idea why I remember her name, for it was a really long time ago. I was a sophomore in college then, around 1988 or 1989. I also have no idea why she called me Tyrone. She was a very sweet middle-aged Chinese-American woman. We were responsible for managing the reviews of discretionary government research grants submitted to the agency, but we worked on different programs.
Anyhow, I told Doris my name wasn’t Tyrone and that it was Will. Twice. But it never sunk in. After the second correction, I stopped telling her. Frankly, I liked her accent and the way she pronounced Tyrone. Almost a year had passed and she, as I was told, was having a conversation with a third party about me. When Doris mentioned Tyrone this and Tyrone that to the third party, that other person evidently asked who she was talking about. She told Doris Tyrone wasn’t correct. Doris came up to me the next day and apologized for the name faux pas. She said she thought I was joking when I had told her my name was Will.
I never did find out what they were saying about me that day. I was always very curious. I was hoping they would have voluntarily told me. I figured it might have been a little rude to ask, don’t you?