Spelling Names Wrong

Having an apparently-difficult-to-spell-though-totally-phonetic name, this bugs me. It doesn't bother me so very much when I'm speaking to somebody, I verbally tell them my name, and they write something like "Roslyn." I get that. I understand when I'm private messaging with somebody who recently met my friend Stephen (but had no reason to see his name spelled out) and they say "So, Steven's cute! What's his situation?" I do not fault people for attempting to spell something they have not seen in writing and assuming the more common spelling. When it bugs me is when this name is written down in front of a person and they still can't figure out.
Like on Facebook. Let's say there's a woman named Abbie. Her Facebook profile states her name on every single thing she writes. On her birthday, Facebook announces to all of those on her Friends list that "Today is Abbie's birthday!" When she gets home from work, she checks Facebook and sees a barrage of messages, half of which say "Happy birthday, Abby!" Friends, come on now. You have now seen her name at least twice in the last ten seconds. You are literally typing right next to her name, spelled out for you. Let's try this experiment.

Abbie

Okay, folks. How does Abbie spell her name?

Or totally illogical spellings. Rozz? What *is* that? You've seen the name written down thousands of times in your life. I can see a misguided writing of Ros. But why would you add a second, totally pointless consonant?! I work with a few women named Jennifer. Pretty much any time ANYBODY writes a note for ANY of them, they are all addressed to "Jenn." Not a single one of these women spell their diminutive with that second "n." Additionally, all of these women wear name tags with their preferred spelling of "Jen." I know women who do spell their name that way, and I'm not saying they are wrong to do so. If your given name is Zhenipher, that is how your name is spelled and it is not wrong. If you choose to be known as "Jenn" though your legal name is Zhenipher, it's still not wrong. But if your boss insists on writing your name as "Jennifer," your boss is wrong and frankly a bit disrespectful for dismissing a crucial part of your identity.

Perhaps the most irritating thing I'm noticing lately is my boss's constant refusal to acknowledge the correct spelling of her employee's names. A few weeks ago, I went to work to find notes written for everybody on my shift and literally every person's name was misspelled. Now, some people have a hard time spelling, and I get that. However, if you are leaving notes for people whose names are six inches away from you on the roster, and you know you don't spell well, maybe glance up and see what the appropriate combination of letters is. We recently hired a young man named Geoff. I understand this is the less common spelling in this generation. In fact, I spoke to him on the phone before he started, and left my boss a note saying "Jeff called." Was I wrong in the spelling? Absolutely. However, then he started, wearing his "Geoff" name badge. Oh, sorry, man, I spelled your name wrong on a note once. Now that he has been entered into the computer, "Geoff" is what prints on the roster. He leaves notes for others signed "Geoff." Yet every day, my boss leaves him a task list that says "Jeff" on it. The first few times, he crossed out "Jeff" and replaced it with "Geoff." Boss didn't catch on and three months later, I still notes for "Jeff" everywhere in the store.

Maybe I shouldn't bitch/blog when I'm still half-asleep.

The Human Torch

At one point in my long string of terrible fucking jobs, I worked overnights at a gas station/convenience store. I actually rather enjoyed that job. I worked alone. Not too awful many customers; not that much work to do. Lots of getting paid to sit on my ass and read a book. And free soda, so that was cool.

One night, this man came into the store. He looked dirty and spoke and moved as though he was...let's say chemically altered (i.e. stoned off his ass). He drumbles up (oh, yes. We're busting out the Shakespeare words) and slurs at me: "D'y'all sell butane?"

Oh boy. Yeah, dude, you should totally have something that flammable. "No."

"K."

He wanders back outside, gets to his car, then turns around and ambles back in. "D'y'all sell butane?"

Even if we did, I sure as Hell wouldn't sell it to you. "Nope. Sorry."

"K."

He wanders back out to his car, and this time gets in it. He drives away and starts off down the road, going about five miles an hour. I rejoice and return to work. About twenty minutes, I see a familiar black Jaguar pulling into the parking, moving at about five miles an hour. I stop what I'm doing and watch out the window.

Dude parks in front of one of the pumps. He turns on his dome light and I see him take a smallish plastic bottle off the seat next to him. I grab the phone and have my hand hovering over the emergency shut-off button, afraid I know exactly what's about to happen. Sure enough, he begins filling a Zippo style lighter while sitting in his car, which, again folks, is parked at a damn gas pump. I watch as he carefully pours butane into a lighter. Then stops being careful. I watch him shake his hand. I dial 911 just in time to watch him light the lighter, resulting in his butane covered hand bursting into flames. Fortuately, it burned quickly and went out. I still phoned the police. And then the dumb fucker lit his lighter a second time. He didn't catch himself on fire this time, but a fireball did shoot up and appeared to touch the ceiling of his car (it's called a ceiling if it's the inside, right? Roof when it's the outside?).

I still don't know how we didn't both die that night. Or why the fuck he came back to my store after obtaining butane. I imagine he has since died and been nominated for a Darwin Award.