I don’t think you really understand what I’m saying here, Becky: this is every d

I don’t think you really understand what I’m saying here, Becky: this is every day, all the time. There will be no end to it, but there is a beginning – a basic introduction of one human (me, the weirdly named freak) to another (Chad Smith, the asshole who has no idea how good he has it).

In my many years on this earth, I have rarely had a moment where someone heard my name for the first time, pronounced it correctly to my face, and then never spoke to me about the matter again. What usually happens is I have to smile politely while I recreate the goddamn Electric Company “Silhouette Blends” sketch while breaking my name down to basic guttural sounds that their brains can comprehend.

There have been moments so frustrating that I thought about telling people to forget it and just call me the first English name they can think of. I will gladly be a Jonathan to this person for the rest of my life if it means the horror of this moment can die forever.

Being saddled with Jonathan would be a better outcome than what usually happens: People give up trying to pronounce my name and give me an insulting nickname instead, sometimes based on a physical characteristic. Other times, it will carry a xenophobic connotation, as you’d be surprised how quickly a person can go from zero to racist for no reason at all, with someone they just met. All of that because they never learned to pronounce phonetically.

No Sex For You: 5 WTF Drawbacks Of Having A Weird Name