Chad

I’m behind the bar, settin up, this band member comes up, longish hair, beard, and introduces himself.  I say, Clint.  Nice to meet you.  He asks me, where’s a good place to eat?  I tell him, you can check out this restaurant next door, or across the street, etcetera.  He says, thanks, appreciate it.  And as he’s walking away, he says, over his shoulder.  Great talkin to you, Chad!!!

I laugh to myself.  Chad.  That’s a first.  Do I even remotely resemble a Chad?  I hear Curt all the time.  Or Curtis, my last name, somehow, they think it’s my first name, go figure.  I get Glen, if you say my name fast, it sometimes comes out Glen.  But hey, you know what?  End of the day, don’t give much of a shit.  Guy’s cool, makin an attempt at my name, I’m not gonna be a dick and say, Oh, no.  My name’s Clint.  Who cares?  It’s just a name.  I’m not a name, you know?  And neither are you.

Three minutes later, he comes up.  Am I an asshole, or is your name not Chad?  I laugh.  Actually, my name’s not Chad.  It’s Clint.  Oh, he says.  I feel bad, now.  Oh shit, man.  Don’t.  I don’t care.  It’s just a name.  You were close anyway.  Starts with a C.

When he walks away, I think to myself, I don’t know his name.  It goes fast, that initial introduction, hi, my name is.  It’s too quick.  You have to repeat the name like three times in your head.  Chad, Chad, Chad.

Just call me Chad.

From my heart to yours,

Chad Curtis.  Bartender.

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