Category: My name

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Humor My name Nonfiction Self improvement

Evidence that dentists are the worst

Sorry, it’s nothing personal, if anyone happens to be a dentist. In fact, the dentist has always been the second-least-scary doctor to visit, in my opinion (the ophthalmologist being the least-scary). But I’ve noticed that dentists seem to be doing all they can to keep the surprisingly popular fear of dental visits alive and well.

Steve Martin in "Little Shop of Horrors"
Steve Martin in “Little Shop of Horrors”

First of all, the pre-appointment chit chat is terrible. Here’s what happened to me on my most recent exam visit.

Hygienist: How’s your day?
Me: Good, how are you?
Hygienist: Good, good…so how are you?
Me: Um. Good.
Hygienist: Great. Having a good day?
Me: Yes…?
Hygienist: How do you pronounce your name?
Me: Syche.
Hygienist: Syche…Sychay.
Me: You just said it correctly, then incorrectly. Did you do that on purpose?

Okay, that last line didn’t happen. But the rest did.

Secondly, they shame you for not flossing three times a day. Frankly, that seems excessive, and quit acting like you’re surprised that we don’t floss! Why are you all high and mighty about it? Maybe you could figure out a different way for us to get clean teeth.

(Although, I have to admit, since I’ve been flossing this last month or so, they haven’t asked me about it, so maybe they actually do see the difference and don’t need to shame me. So okay. Well played, dentists.)

Finally, the dentist is where you get the largest amount of patronizing medical jargon while you lie there helpless. It isn’t enough that you have to be in this supine, submissive position, while they raise and lower the chair in a sick display of power – now they will talk from behind their mask (which hides their face so you can’t tell what they’re thinking) to the hygienist (also wearing a mask) and the two of them will use lots of terms you’ve never heard of to talk about you like you’re not even there.

Hygienist: *mumbling unintelligibly*
Dentist: What’s that, Milton? Did you want to do a probe now?
Hygienist/Milton: *mumbles*
Dentist: Okay. Starting with lingual binding. *starts stabbing gums with tiny pitchfork* 4, 3, 2, 3, 2, 3, 3, 4, 3, 2, 3, 2… *this goes on for awhile while I stare at the ceiling and avoid making eye contact with the stranger who is 6 inches from my face*

Dentists, please tell us what you’re doing before you put anything into our mouths. And give us some props for having only 1 cavity in almost 30 years, or for having all 4 wisdom teeth, or for remembering to brush/floss/drink water/not eat anything before coming to our 8:30am appointment.

And for the love of God, put some posters or word searches or something up on your ceilings so we have something to look at while we’re stuck in your chair.

==

Disclaimer: I don’t really hate the dentist.

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"Other people" Being a girl Dollars Memoir My name

Change is inevitable

Among my habits that annoy Drew, “saving” is probably pretty high up there. I “save” all kind of things. I save up recycling rather than throwing it away, even though we don’t have a recycling dumpster at our new place. (C’mon… seriously? This is California!) I often have a box going for stuff (clothes, books, anything really) that I mean to take to Salvation Army or Goodwill…eventually.

And I have this irrational fondness for collecting coins for months in an old Nesquik container. Then one night, I dump them out on the carpet and watch TV and roll them into actual, exchangeable piles of money.

We had some rolled coins still sitting around from a few months ago, and then a bunch of new loose coins. So the other night, I flopped down on the carpet to roll the rest of them, and Drew sat down with me. I don’t know if he enjoys it at all, or if he just recognizes the value in turning this sort-of-forgotten money into bank-account money.

We ended up with $65 altogether – $10 in quarters, $10 in nickels, $10 in pennies (this is weird, right?), and $35 in dimes. That’s right. Those skinny little dimes, that I don’t always bother to pick up when they fall on the ground, added up to $35.

I took this Safeway bag full of money into the bank this morning, where shifty-eyed tellers immediately assessed my intentions and each tried to pass me off to the next person. The first guy said, “Tell you what we’re going to do, my coworker over there is going to help you because I have to…go do something.” (Seriously.) Then the girl he passed me off to said that her drawer wasn’t big enough for all of it, so I’d have to go over there. The third guy had been sneaking a look at a text message and so he didn’t have any excuse ready to go, and he wound up dealing with me.

But here’s what I want to know: is it so weird that I do this? I mean, it’s money. What am I supposed to do, go to a Coinstar and let them take almost 10% of it? That’s $6 saved right there.

And this is a bank. This is a branch of one of the biggest banks in America, and I’ve been a customer there for 10 years. So what if once a year I come in and make someone count rolls of change? It’s just counting. You learn that ish in elementary school.

To add insult to injury, the guy finished up our conversation by telling me how my name should be pronounced, which I’ve decided is one of the most annoying things that people persistently do. I don’t tell you that your name is spelled wrong, Kriss. So how about you give me my receipt for my $65, and let me get out of here.

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Being a girl Drew Memoir My name Sentiment

Inspiration

Late at night is when I get my bursts of inspiration for cleaning. Tonight I went through two boxes of stuff my parents gifted me with months ago…and pared it down to the throwaways, the donatables, and the keepsies.

Example throwaway: notebooks from college classes filled with notes about the Puritans and protest theatre. (Two different classes.) Nothing really of note to keep here. Although Drew pointed out my copious margin notes: “Syche + Drew” and then one page where I apparently decided to practice signing my first name with his last name. As we pondered this, I said, “Whoops!” and he said “GAWD, you’re obsessed with me or something.”

Example donatable: Pretty tin box, that I remember always having, but don’t have any specific attachment to, and which I will be much happier giving away than moving two more times.

Example keepsie: A diary I kept around the time I was 5 and 6. My bffk (best friend for kindergarten) (well, sort of…I mean I guess she was my best girl friend, but I’d still say my two best bffks were boys) actually went through and wrote “I love Kelly” on most of the pages (she’s Kelly), but some of the pages still have my original journal entries. I present you with two of them:

If I'm being completely honest, these are still my top three fears.

And from later…I would say around 4th or 5th grade:

B) and C) don't really matter. Amirite, girls?

That being said, today I tried out a set of hot rollers that a friend gave me, and they worked great! And I spent much time looking in the mirror and admiring my pretty hair, and taking pictures of myself. So don’t worry about me, I’ve got plenty of self-confidence now. A generous amount. Maybe even too much?

Ah, the joys of being a girl. :/

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"Other people" My name Not awesome Technology

Day 8: Wrong number

Another phone call from a 916- number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Joe there?”

“Nope, you’ve got the wrong number. Again.” (This is the third day in a row.)

“Oh, sorry, I’ll, uh, I’ll call another number.” Click.

…That is a great idea!

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Drew My name Writing

Say My Name

SAY MY NAME

Here’s a fun fact about me: I don’t really like saying my name out loud. Saying it one time is doable, but if I have to keep saying it, things get awkward. I’m sorry to say that when people ask me to repeat my name for clarification, my voice goes up at the end? Like it’s a question? That annoying way of speaking that drives everyone crazy?

I think I am secretly afraid that I’m saying it wrong. Yes, my own first name.

My averseness to saying names sometimes extends to other people’s names. Like Drew. For some reason, I’m always expecting someone to call me on my “totally weird” way of saying his name. Like, am I making the “Dr” sound into too much of a “J” sound? Or am I over-emphasizing the “ooo”? It shouldn’t be a difficult name – that’s one of the reasons his mom picked it for him – but it’s become this occasional mental stumbling block for me.

It’s a similar feeling as when you repeat a single word over and over again (like egg, or hamster) and it starts to lose all meaning. What is a Drew anyway? Although I have always been jealous of people whose names also function as words: like my fifth-grade teacher, whose first name was Star. She could collect all kinds of things with stars on them. What could I collect?

Drew and I rarely call each other by our names, when it’s just the two of us. (Maybe he’s also nervous he’s saying it wrong.) Some embarrassing nicknames may or may not come into play. I figure at some point, as the many years of marriage weigh on us, we’ll transition into using each other’s names. Or maybe we won’t. That’s what makes us us, I suppose.

The other day at a work function I had to introduce myself to the group as a whole, and then to four people individually. By the fifth time I said, “Hi, I’m Syche,” even I was thinking, Well, that is just ridiculous. Then there was the inevitable spelling it out – I think people think it will clarify things, but it just muddles them more. That same night I went out with some friends for dinner, and when they asked for a name, I said Drew. Without skipping a beat the hostess said, “You don’t look like a Drew.” Not the first time I’ve heard that. I guess it is true that you embody your name, and some people just couldn’t be anything but what they’re named. What does that say about me? I’m easily misunderstood, and possibly always trying just a little too hard?

You can change your name but I don’t think I would ever want to. It would be too weird to have to figure out what name I do embody, at this late point in my life. And I guess in a sick, Stockholm Syndrome-type of way, I’m proud of my name, and that I’m not just another Jessica in a sea of Jessicas.

Online here for a short time!

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Being a girl Memoir My name

“What’s in a name?” “Shut up, Juliet.”

To all the new teachers, substitute teachers, doctor’s office receptionists, and potential employers that I have had in my lifetime:

I just want to say that I’m empathetic of your struggle and I identify with you.  That moment scanning the roll sheet or the sign-in sheet or my email application, and you scroll past the Jessicas and the Tanyas and the Aarons of the world, and then your eye stops on my name, and you think, Poor guy.  Or girl?

In middle school and high school, I grew used to that pause after Goselin or Green, when I knew Hamilton was next and that poor teacher was in denial that, whatever they tried, whatever ethnic spin they put on it…they were about to go down in flames.  As often as possible I preempted the carnage, and just called my name out.  Because I’m a nice person like that.

And I’m not a shy person, generally speaking.  When someone asks me a question I will give them the answer, clear and enunciated.  None of this bs I keep running into with high school students, where the answer is mumbled and quiet and completely unhelpful.  (After two different students  named Estefani, I still have no idea how to pronounce it.)

I didn’t choose my name.  I like it, and I can’t imagine being named anything else.  But given the opportunity to name new people (say, children), I would have to think long and hard before saddling them with something that no one will ever be able to spell or pronounce without practice.

Oh, also, I’d save them the conversation of, “That’s different!  I’ve never heard that before!  Where is that from?”  I have given the full story as I know it (Dutch wedge of family pie; 7 and 9 generations back; we have no idea how it was pronounced originally; possibly a Dutch equivalent of Cynthia?), but I have also, when particularly flustered/in a hurry/irritated, just said, “Yeah, my parents made it up.”  (If I’ve ever given you that bit, I’m sure it wasn’t personal, I was probably just having an “off” day.)

My mother-in-law named her kids Lance and Drew.  This way, there’s no nickname for either one, there’s no lengthier versions, and no one will ever have problems understanding/spelling/pronouncing their names.  I love it.  I’m into nicknames, but it’s frustrating meeting that person who sometimes goes by Michael and sometimes goes by Mike, and you’re like, what do you want to be called?

I recently found out the guy I’ve been calling Harold for a month actually prefers Hank.  But no one ever told me that.  So I’ll make the switch now.  Awkward!

In fifth grade, a family friend suggested I change the spelling of my name to Sysha.  Which might have been helpful.  But I could never really convince myself that I wanted to give up like that.

I recently read an article that said that given two resumes with an equal level of experience, equally good references, etc, the employer will call the one with the “Americanized” name.  (I guess this depends greatly on the employer.)  They sent out equally matched resumes to a bunch of employers, one with “Rachel Miller” on the top and one with “Nikshanta Uluave.”  (Or whatever.)  And guess who got called in to interview?  I have definitely thought more than once, over the last year, about just sticking my middle name up there to make me more accessible to American (and xenophobic?) potential employers.

When Drew first started work at The Lion King and would mention his girlfriend Syche, everyone thought he was dating a black girl.  They were apparently kind of disappointed when they finally saw pictures and I’m just a plain boring white girl with brown hair.

In the end though, there’s more to a name than Juliet thinks, right?  I feel like my name has shaped me in a way that going through life answering to Shannon might not have.

So, strangers who are seeing or hearing my name for the first time, I appreciate your patience and your perseverance.  Please call me in for an interview, I am totally not intimidating at all.

And to the Yazans, Timmurs, Salevis, Siales, Anayelys, and Estefanis of the world (or even just the Bay Area): I really am trying to say it correctly.  It’ll help me out so much if you say it clearly if I get it wrong.

And don’t look at me like that, we’re in the exact same boat.

PS. My favorite name today was a guy named Orange.  And I’ve seen a lot of overly-complicated spellings of regular names, like Raychell and DeNiece.  (I’m not making these up.)