Beware of who you ask for

justin monkey, Ravings, Stupidity 1 Comment

My name is Justin. Sure, it’s not the most common name (though I have, for some reason, been friends with many a Justin over my years), but it’s what my folks deemed to label me with.

It’s not even a particularly hard name to pronounce. It’s spelled relatively normal with a good ratio of consonants to vowels and it doesn’t even have any pesky silent letters.

Why, then, have people insisted on calling me “Jason” for years and years?

For a long while I just ignored the “mispronunciation.” After that I made corrections; often leading with the ever-popular “I’ll answer to any ‘J’ name.” (My father’s name is Jeff, so I’ve been called “Jeff” a lot as well.)

Now, however, I’m just going to roll with it. I’m going to respond to Jason and be Jason.

Here’s the big “problem,” though, Jason is a complete jerk.

Someone asks Jason to pass the mashed potatoes? He might just throw them on the floor. Need Jason to forward that important email to your Brother-in-Law? Whoops, Jason signed you and him up for a whole passel of listservs on growing beets in Kentucky. Need Jason to defuse that bomb that’s in the room we are locked in? Well, Jason is going to go ahead and defuse that bomb because he’s not a suicidal idiot, but he’ll pelt you with nasty jeers while he does it.

I’ve thought this through a lot and it’s the perfect consequence-less crime. If the person I am snubbing gets bent out of shape, they are going to expend a whole bunch of energy bitching and moaning about the wrong person. If confronted, I can always resort to, “Yeah, Jason did that. Isn’t he a complete prick?”

In the most perfect of worlds, the “perpetrator” will apologize to me for getting my name wrong and tell me it won’t happen again (yeah, like I haven’t heard that before.) Worst case scenario, I get in a bit of trouble and play the martyr card: “It’s like I’m not even a human being to you people.”

Oh, and by the way, it will always be Jason who took the last beer and/or slice of pizza. I’m also pretty sure it was him who farted in the elevator last week.

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