If you looked like a famous person, would you impersonate them? I went to college with a girl who was a dead-ringer for Neve Campbell. She described it as a curse. But, on more than one occasion, she admitted to using her famous likeness to her advantage. In particular, she said being mistaken for Ms. Campbell put her at the best table in restaurants, at the front of long nightclub lineups and, much to the delight of her entourage, it afforded her several rounds of complimentary drinks. Secretly, I envied fake Neve. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to receive “movie star” treatment everywhere I went. Would it be a blessing in disguise, or a curse? If you already looked like somebody famous, why not take advantage of it? Some people actually make a good living pretending to be someone else. Look at Elvis. He lives on 37 years after his death due to an entire industry of impersonators.
But what if you didn’t look like somebody famous, but shared their name? Over the years, I’ve worked with a few famous namesakes. For example: Kate Bush, Karen Black and Jack Lord (just to name a few). But I’ve also worked with people (directly or indirectly) who had, let’s just say, unusual names. For example: Bill Payment, Wing Dong and Fuk U. Tu (incredibly, Mr. Tu really exists).
Taking this subject one step further: what if you had a name with a double meaning? What if you had a name that conjured up a rude or negative connotation? Would you change it? Or would you keep it?
***
BOOK EXCERPT
“What’s the next name on the list?” Gord, my supervisor, asked, slightly annoyed that I was holding up the envelope-stuffing process.
“Um...I can’t. I can’t say it,” I replied nervously, not wanting to get into trouble but too embarrassed to read the next name on the list out loud. Becoming irritated, Gord tossed down his pen and tried to look at the list that lay on the table before me.
“Oh, come on! Just say it. Time is of the essence,” he exclaimed, clearly exasperated with my apparent defiance. Closing my eyes, I held my breath and turned the list around for his inspection, my finger pointing at the name. Impatiently, he grabbed the list from me and practically shouted as he read out the name that I simply couldn’t.
“The Honourable George Klit,” he announced, louder than necessary. With my eyes still closed, I was mortified that if I made eye contact with him I’d burst out laughing. Realizing what he’d just said, he gasped. He had, after all, just said the type of word you wouldn’t say to your own mother. Slowly, I opened my eyes, looking up as I did to examine his face for some clue of what to say or do next. I couldn’t tell who was more embarrassed; me or him.
“Oh...my,” he stammered. “That can’t be right. Is that really his name?” The thought had also occurred to me that it was a typo.
Gord struggled not to laugh, although his face had turned as red from embarrassment as mine already was. It’s not often you hear an elder use a “private” word, even if it was somebody’s last name. He wanted to laugh, but showed great restraint not to.
“No wonder you didn’t want to say it!” he finally said, breaking the tension. We burst into laughter, relieving the nervous tension that, but for a brief moment, had taken over the small confines of our workspace.
END OF BOOK EXCERPT
***
Personally speaking, if I was cursed with the family name “Klit”, I’d change it to “Klitoris”.
Editor’s Note: This blog was originally posted June 1, 2014.
