What’s my name again?

“Hey guys, how’s it going?”

“Bitchin’.  What about you?”

“Oh, it’s going.  What’s your name?”

“I’m [Dan].”

“[Greg]. What’s your name?”

“Red!”

“No it’s not! Fine, I’m Brown.”

“Brown!  That’s a new one.  I like brown, it’s one of my favourite colours after red.”

“Yeah yeah.  What’s your real name?”

“Red.  But it’s spelled Read.”

“Yeah right.  No, really, what is it?”

What is this insistence on authenticity that some guys have? Do they know where they are?  They want to go to the fantasy factory and then focus so hard on making sure they have an authentic experience (unlike everyone else, because they are more special and knowing) that they miss the whole point and wear everyone—including their friends, out.

“It’s Commiepinko.” Dimple at them.  Come on asshole, get won over and stop being such a chore.

They both laugh. “I bet you say that all the time.”

“Only because it’s my real name.”

“Yeah, right.  And how many guys even get it?  I bet it goes right over their heads!”

“Hi, how’s it going?”

“Just great, what’s your name?”

“Red!  And yours?”

“That’s not your real name!  I’m Blue.”

“No, it’s my last name.  My first is Commiepinko.”

“So your parents were socialists?”

“Oh yes, died-in-the-wool.”

“Well, you’re not a very good socialist, are you?  This is a very capitalist establishment.”

“Oh, you caught me.  Being all hypocritical and all.”

He looks satisfied.

“So how about aiding me in my accumulation of capital?  Are you ready for a dance?”

“No.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Better now!

“What’s your name?”

“[John], what’s yours?”

“Red.”

“Red! Really?”

“Yes, but my first name is Commiepinko.  Are you ready for a dance?”

“Oh Commiepinko, yes.  Let’s go.”

Dance happens.

“Oh, Commiepink. Oh.” I’m feeling too uptight and grouchy to really onomatopoeize. We also talk about his job, he’s a professor at my university, although not my department.  Whew!  I tell him about the time one of my professors came in, but it wa a big class and I look fairly different in school.  Incognito.

Three dances later:

“Commiepinko, that was wonderful.  Just wonderful.” [1]


[1] To bring you up to date, a week later I saw him at a distance with his kids while I was walking my dog.  I kept my face very blank and he went the opposite direction. I think we’re neighbours.

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