Panic Name

I have a panic name.  I don’t think every girl does, but I certainly do.  It started because I’m tired of being called Elsie or Alice.  For instance, I was at a burger joint called Froggie’s, and they asked for my name.  I told them, straight up, and they wrote “Alice.”  Sure, it’s not the biggest deal in the world, but it drives me nuts.  Then there are cases where guys you REALLY don’t want to talk to ask your name.   Actually, I’d rather I didn’t have to talk to you at all, let alone give you any information about me.  In another case, a girl from my high school had it out for me, and she was in control of handing in names for the newspaper.   I ended up with a few ribbons at a track meet, so the next day the high school sports section said, “100 meter dash, 1^st place, Eliez Winkie.”
 
All right, seriously?  I knew something had to be done.

It took me a few years to realize what I needed to do: I needed a panic name.  As soon as I figured that much out, I was golden.  I started small.  Like at coffee places where they’d ask for a name.  Not MY name—a name.  So I became Stella.  Not for any particular reason, mind you, but it really comes in handy.  First off, nobody mistakes Stella for anything else.  In addition, people like to yell “Stella!” dramatically, to which I respond, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”  And just like that, I have a believable panic name.

 The most recent time I used this name was about a week ago at Wal-Mart.  I was standing in the checkout line when I realized someone or something was looking at me.  For all the world, it looked like a blonde, Rasta version of Sasquatch was smiling at me.  I smiled back and started staring at the beef jerky nearby.  Yep.  Sasquatch.  I texted a few people to say, “I think Sasquatch just smiled at me…”  I didn’t get any responses (my guess is, they all rolled their eyes and thought, “another Elyse text”).  I figured I was in the clear, so I walked out to my car.

Then I heard him.

“Dude, hey!” It was the Sasquatch! I said hello—he was already right next to me, so it’s not like I could ignore him.  I went into panic mode.  “Dude,” he said again.  I wish I was kidding about how many times he said dude.   “I saw you in the store,” he said.  “So I figured I’d just follow you to your car and introduce myself.”  Oh, how nice.  You followed me to my car.  That’s totally normal.  “Your name is?”  Stella.  “That’s pretty.  You live around here?”  Nope.  I’m live in Florida.  Just visiting my mom.  “Aww, well, nice to meet you, dude.”  He shook my hand and went away.  I took a deep breath and thought about what a horrible liar I am.  Oh well.  That’s what a panic name’s for.