I Prefer Barry

Hello, my name is Brady.

No, it's not guy.

Nor is my name Dude, although I have a tee shirt that says so.

My name is simply Brady.

But Every once in awhile, somebody gets it wrong. That happened to me the other day, and it triggered an unfortunate memory and subsequent venting about That Guy Who Called Everybody Guy.

Don't fret. We're not going back there again today.

The other day, a colleague called me by the wrong name. He called me Barry. Twice, actually. This colleague travels frequently and is rarely in the office. Having returned from a long absence, he needed some assistance installing a printer to his new laptop. So while I was downloading the driver, we passed the time with the small chit-chat that normally occupies office space. He remembered that I was a cyclist and a swimmer. We talked about our families a little. Then, after successfully printing a test page, he thanked me for getting him hooked up. That's when he called me Barry.

I gave him the benefit of doubt. Perhaps the chatter of the printer made me mishear what he said. But then as we were walking out, he praised me again -- this time distinctly as Barry -- for my efforts.

It was okay. It wasn't the first time I've been called Barry.

Over the years, I've been called a lot of names besides Brady. The most common has been Brad. I hate being called Brad, but not nearly as much as I hate being called guy -- whoops, there's that guy word slipping in again. --  I'm surprised at how much I dislike being called Brad. It's a mystery because I have friends named Brad. I suppose it's because of the context. I'm usually called Brad by a bank teller or someone trying to sell me something. Uh sorry, but Brad's not going to be buying any Florida swamp land from you.

Besides Barry and Brad, I've also been called Grady, Bradley, Brandy, Braddy, and even Bob once. Bob? Here's how that one went:

Me: Hi, my name is Brady.

Them: Nice to meet you, Bob.

Me: Um, you too, guy.

Anyway, about this Barry thing. The first person to call me Barry was Mr. Conway, my high school religion teacher.

Mr Conway was an icon at St. Louis University High School. By the time I sat in his freshman theology class, Mr Conway had served in various roles in the school administration and taught nearly every subject. He had a wealth of experience and was an excellent teacher. The finer details, like remembering the name of another know-it-all-snot-nosed punk sitting in the second row, just wasn't that important to Mr Conway anymore. He just called it the way he saw it.

I can still picture him sitting behind that big old oak desk, his bright, wide eyes staring at me through his Mr Magoo-like glasses, while asking me something like, "How old did the Bible say Methuselah was, Barry?"

I had corrected him a couple times early in the semester. He'd call me by my proper name for a few weeks before being drawn back towards his old standby, Barry. So by the time we were through the Pentateuch, my new name, Barry, was firmly rooted. I/we all kind of got used to it. It was fine.

It was that way until late in the semester. We were studying the minor prophets, when classmate Leonard Shelton broke the silence. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Mr Conway: ...Popular belief is that the Bible says that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. But did the Bible really mention anything about a whale? What does the Bible say, Barry?

Barry/Me: The Bibl --

Leonard: -- MR CONWAY, HIS NAME IS BRADY. FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON CALLING HIM BARRY?!!

Mr. Conway: Because he looks like Barry Manilow.



The classroom roared with laughter. Mr Conway lets everyone continue for a moment before raising his hand to silence the class

Mr. Conway: So what were you about to say, BARRY? Was there a whale?

Barry/Me: ... no, Mr Conway.The Bible never mentions anything about a whale, it just says a large fish swallowed Jonah.

Mr. Conway: Thank you, Barry. Now Leonard, come put your demerit card on the corner of my desk...

***

From way back then until till now, many years have passed since I've been called Barry. I still don't mind that one.

This much's for sure: being called Barry is much preferred over being called guy by the guy who called everybody guy.