He reached out his hand, again. I shook it…again.
He said the word again, “Nice to meet you…(whatever he said)…”
The man was profoundly, annihilatedly stoned. He could barely stay awake as we talked.
I finally realized that he was trying to say my name, except he wasn’t getting it off of my name tag, a happy gray affair that says “Josh” on it. Josh, not whatever he was saying.
But then I got it. He was calling me “Prox.” He thought that the access card that I use to move through the building’s various doors was my name tag. But it is not a name tag. It is a 2″ wide by 4″ tall white wafer of plastic that says:
and under that,
He was calling me “Prox.” I’ve decided to run with it. And I’m not going to go through all of the forms that Ron Artest needs to change his name to “Metta World Peace.”
I’m simply going to wear my access card and assume people realize it.
Later he appeared again and said “But seriously man, only the angels die.”
So true, bro. So true.
Feeling proxy today.
If you refuse to call me Prox, please subscribe to the RSS feed.