25 names in 25 days

_{http://www.vecteezy.com}

Late to the arrival of Facebook, I only signed up because my daughter was overseas at the time. As a teacher, it was a decision I did not take lightly. I wanted to keep my anonymity. It was only when a dear friend suggested that I did not have to use my real name that I finally relented. I became Lotti McNiece. Lotti was the name of our mini poodle and McNiece was my husband’s surname. People who knew me could find me, others would have a hard time.

Years after Lotti died, I kept her name. People would walk up to me saying, ‘Aren’t you Lotti?’ and my standard reply was, ‘Well, yes and no…’ My husband had his own version of an alter ego. A Francophile, he studied the works of Louis Aragon and often used the name Louis when ordering at coffee carts. At home he became Louis Leoir, a struggling student in our daughter’s make believe class. And when we played our own version of Fawlty Towers, she became Polly and we imitated Sybil and Basil. Playing with names became a family tradition.

As a nod to my late husband, I use a variety of different names when ordering coffee. I seem to be fond of Frankie, Lotti, Zoe, Clara and Ella. At times I have even used Mark and Dan just to get a reaction. Alas, nothing can shock a barista. They probably think I am ordering coffee for someone else. Colleagues, on the other hand, giggle whenever I use a pseudonym as if they are witnessing some mischievous folly.

Most people I know are very attached to their names while I am, at best, ambivalent. As a child I was known by my middle name, Angela. This changed on the day I started school in Australia. As there was already an Angela in the class, my teacher insisted on calling me Viktoria. I hated it. It sounded so pompous. The moment I could find my voice, I began to call myself Vicki in an attempt to fit in. At home I had a nickname, so I learnt to respond to any of the four names I could be called. In my late twenties I reverted to Viktoria in an attempt to sound more mature. It is definitely a name to grow into. Over the years, some people have consistently called me Elizabeth, a misassociation of my name with the late queen of England instead of her great-great-grandmother, Queen Victoria. I respond well to Elizabeth.

While standing in line for coffee today, I watched a young man attempt to place his order. The woman behind the counter could not make out his name. She repeated several possibilities, none of them right. In the end, to keep the queue moving, he simultaneously nodded and shrugged when she said, ‘Josh?’ And so he became Josh for the duration of his brew. I leant over and confessed that I often use a pseudonym in these situations. It’s fun to try on different personas.

‘25 names in 25 days,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. A conspiratorial moment shared between two strangers before I ordered my coffee.

‘Name?’
‘Frankie,’ I said, with a wink at Josh.