Have you ever let something get so far along that by the time you realize what's happened it's too late? That's kind of where I'm at right now. It's one of those awkward social moments that would inspire Larry David or Jerry Seinfeld to write something brilliant. But for me, it's my daily life.
I've been on the new job for about two months now (still loving it). The office is on the seventh floor of a building on Hollywood Blvd. The fun thing is that weird shit happens around here nearly every day. It might be just a random false fire alarm or having a traffic stop trap outside our window or the religious protesters who walk up and down the street every day chanting around noon (it's how I know it's lunch time) or a helicopter going down. It's never dull.
But we have a security guard that patrols the grounds and sits in the lobby to protect us from any errant homeless that might roll up. It happens. It happened in Nashville too. Not so much in Thousand Oaks, but that's a different story. The security guard is a very nice man who has a slight accent. His name is Rocqui (pronounced Rocky, but he's from the Philippines so it's their version spelling). Since my dad's name is Rocky, it's easy for me to remember.
However, when we were introduced, he must of misheard my name. And because he has a slight accent it wasn't until three weeks into the job that I realized that Rocqui thought my name was Alicia. And now he says hi and bye to Alicia every day. It's been two months.Too late to correct him without us both feeling awkward. And honestly, do I really care if someone thinks my name is Alicia? It only matters in those brief moments in the day when I walk by the security desk.
At this point, I am Alicia. At least twice a day.