7th May - My name's not Jack



That's it now, I think it's officially 'shorts' season, and I can't envisage myself popping trousers on until at least September, maybe even October. Truth be told, I've always been a bit of a 'surfer dude' in that aspect. I love wearing shorts, and hate having my legs covered. I also have a near borderline phobia of socks, and any excuse to slap my giant size 13 tootsies into a pair of sliders, I'm there. I'm currently seeking medical analysis, actually, for autism. As I've long exhibited many mild instances of the behaviours associated with such a condition, and my dislike of textures (socks, especially. But towels can also be offensive if too 'crispy') is a real key component of such diagnosis.

Elsewhere, I picked up an iced latte from Starbucks today and they wrote 'James' on the label of the cup. I then immediately proceeded to slosh the entire fucking thing all over myself, my legs, the table, and the floor (not in a fit of rage at 'James-gate', but just because I'm a clumsy idiot). With the wastage of £3.70 still resoundingly ringing through my ears, I went into my email inbox and searched for the word 'Jack'. Why, might you ask? Because all through my life, people have somehow confused the name 'Jake' with 'Jack'. So much so that on Thursday of this week, a colleague of mine, who I've worked with for 12 weeks now even asked me a question by saying "Ermm Jack...?'", and then immediately corrected herself to 'Whoops, I mean Jake'. 





Likewise, yesterday afternoon, my partner's Grandma bid me farewell with a swift "Take care Jack, I mean Jake.". One hundred and twenty eight. That's how many emails I found in my inbox (in the last year alone) which started with "Dear Jack", or "Hi Jack". Ironic, considering you have to type in the word 'Jake' as part of ANY of my several email addresses, to even be able to successfully send an email to me. 128, in 365 days. That's one every 3 days. My favourite was from the admin department of my workplace, who noticed that a parcel had been signed for by a 'Jack' within the company, but no full name was attached to said delivery. He mentioned that he had compiled a list full of 'Jacks' from the company's intranet database and was sending the email to each of them to track down the intended recipient. So how my name appeared in his list, I'll never know. (Please see above and below photos). In the meantime, if you see a potentially autistic lad strolling around in shorts and sliders, why not greet him with a hearty "Hello Jack!"...






... Everybody else already does. 

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