Having been blessed with a somewhat uncommon name, and a definitely uncommon spelling of it, I think about names sometimes. Especially when I’m desperate for blog fodder. I’m very aware of how other people’s names are spelled, and I make it a point to spell everyone’s names correctly. Actually, I make it a point to spell everything correctly. I’m not sure if that’s related to the weird name thing, or just a symptom of my OCD. Maybe a little of both.

So I have an affinity for people whose parents have sent them out into the world with an oddly spelled name. It’s like we’re all part of a little club. The knowing glances, the sympathetic nods, the secret handshake.

Sometimes we relish the uniqueness of our names, projecting that onto a certain uniqueness of personality. Certainly, someone named Erynn or Jorja wouldn’t deign to go through life as a tax assessor or professor of comparative botany.

But then there are times when it’s just inconvenient to have such an unusually spelled name. It’s not the same as having a wholly unusual name, like Devinia or K’nesha. Names like that automatically come with a spelling query. There’s no ‘normal’ equivalent. But when your name sounds like a real name, it adds a level of frustration. Souvenir keychains and coffee mugs are almost right, but not quite.

Names written in restaurant hostess lists are almost right, but not quite. Written communications from passing acquaintances, and sometimes even family members, are almost right, but not quite. It’s a special kind of limbo for people whose parents got some creative ants in their pants around the time to sign the birth certificate.

Having a job that requires me to wear a nametag, besides being humiliating for someone with a master’s degree and actual professional skills, brings the weirdness of my name’s spelling into the forefront all the time. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say when someone comments, “That’s an unusual way to spell your name.” I usually just nod. If they’re friendly and seem interested, I tell them the story behind my name.

But really. Do they think I don’t realize how my name is spelled? Do they think I could have made it through 32 years of life without having noticed that my name isn’t spelled like other people’s names? I suppose they could just be making polite conversation, but it gets old.

Incidentally, my particular name anomaly is mentioned in an article about the evils of bestowing odd names on helpless children.

The author seems to think that weird names will make people grow up to be hermits or psychopaths or republicans. But I bet it’s just because her name is Susan or something. At least those of us with crazy names can find ourselves in the phone book.