In working in your small town, the regular customers who come into the store start to get to know those behind the register fairly well.
Well, in a way that is true, but, as of late, one of our frequent, friendly, elderly customers has taken to call me Judy. Now this choice isn't random. Judy does work there. She's been working there for about as long as I have, and she is my best friend. She's Indian, which in confusing with my personal Filipinoism doesn't make the jump too hard to believe. Her name also as that "juh" sound that my name has, so I can see why the customer calls me Judy all the time.
I kind of just go with it.
I corrected her the first time, but she was very confused by me. I decided to leave it alone. Going to high school with Judy, I've been pretty used to people calling me her name. Heck, I even answer to it sometimes. So goes the way with this customer.
Only, today, I was sitting on the ground, marking down the books, when said customer came in and greeted me friendly-like, "Hey Judy!"
Then I, as friendly-like as I could, "Hey! How are you?"
The customer quite happily told me that she was fine and went on to shop, but she retracted rather suddenly, looked at me a little worried, and asked, "Your name's not Judy is it?"
For some reason, my initial compulsion was to deny this! I honestly felt like she was accusing me of not being Judy! I mean, I'm not. But I was so used to assuming the character, really just acting like my self with Judy's moniker, that I was clueless as to respond for a minute.
"No," I smiled in a ain't that just the way kind of tone. Her face fell, and I could see that I was making her feel just awkward as I usually feel, all the time really. "But," I repaired quickly. "I'm used to it! I actually respond to it automatically since I've known Judy for so long."
"Oh," she laughed politely. "So what is your name?"
I wanted to tell her that I told her once before, but that would be childish. "Georgette," I said, enunciating each part because people usually hear me say Georgia.
"Georgia?" so goes my enunciating.
"Jor-jet," I said, harder but smiling.
"Georgette," she repeated.
"Hello!"
Afterwards, I realized that this used to happen all the time actually. Back in high school, I was one of five Asians. Forget the fact that we were all different sorts of Asians (from Laos, Singapore, India, etc.), but we were always mistaken for one another. Then again, for an extremely southern school in the South in a small town, five Asians is like Halley's Comet, I'm sure.
