Monday, 22 June 2009
I was puzzled to be asked for my first name when I paid for my coffee on Saturday. It was needed, I was told, because I would be called over to collect it. I can see the sense. It saves all that hanging around at the end of the line, like in Starbucks, although some good conversation can be had in the Starbucks melee. But I felt uncomfortable because Morag isn't common in Leicester. I had to repeat it several times for the girl who served me and I waited anxiously for whatever version might be bellowed across the heads of the waiting shoppers. I felt full of shame, fearful of having to stand up and own a mangled version of my name. In the end it was fine but I did think of the generation above my own who wouldn't want to give their first name or those whose first names are truly hard to pronounce. On the other hand, a lot of fun could be had...a different name every time, a chance to try out all those names I would have preferred.