Say My Name

Yeah, you, Safeway. I'm talking to you. Let's face it. None of the employees in any of your stores knows my name, nor have they ever known my name, nor will they ever know it. And if they did know it, they wouldn't be able to pronounce it. Hell, I went through 13 years of public school with people who failed to learn how to pronounce it. But never once in all of those 13 years, did any of my classmates hold my receipt hostage until I gave them the correct pronunciation. And then forget it again by the next time I saw them.

What is the point of this anyway? Why do you need to call me by my name? I just came in here for some red potatoes and a shallot. I don't need to feel like we connected on some deep personal basis. Just give me my damned receipt and let me go.

I might add that the fact that you DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW MY NAME detracts from this careful image of a personal encounter that you have so painstakingly created. The fact that you have to look at the receipt every freaking time so that you can then mangle my name and render it unrecognizable to me (except that you now have a death grip on that little slip of paper and are staring at me with that quizzical, expectant look on your face) gives me just the teensiest hint that maybe this show of being my local, friendly neighborhood grocer is just that--a show.

So please, Safeway, I'm begging you. Learn my name or don't bother saying it at all. I'm on to you.