I had orientation today for my second part-time job at Target. There are still some…logistics? to work out with having two part-time jobs (like, how do people coordinate schedules, how).
After I left Target, I called my mother and had a pleasant chat with her, then checked my messages and realized that Target had called me. According to the voicemail, they were calling me, like, two minutes after I had left. I wondered if maybe I had forgotten to fill out a form? I had left something in the office? I returned the call.
Once I got to the HR associate, she said, “I just remembered looking at your passport and being confused. How many middle names do you have? You only have one on your application.”
Hahahahaha. Of course. The bane of my legal existence. My two legal middle names. I only go by one in real life, because no one wants the middle initials BS.
“I have two,” I said.
She verified that the two middle names were what she thought they were.
“It’s just that, well, they all look like last names,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was my mother being a feminist.”
To be fair, I agree with her insistence on having her name somewhere in my name. I am as much her child as I am my father’s, it seems fair to have her name as part of my existence. It’s just annoying in day-to-day life because no one else, except, like, royalty, has two middle names. Heck, a lot of people don’t even have middle names. I am a statistical outlier.
The last time this was a problem was when I got a drug test to work at Home Depot way back in 2012. The nurse, a super-Southern woman, was confused by the sheer number of names on my official drug test form. I had to explain that one was my grandmother’s maiden name, one was my mother’s maiden name, and the last was my father’s name, my actual legal last name.
She giggled when I was done and said, “So you have your grammy’s name, your mama’s name, and your daddy’s name.”
“Yes,” I said.
I annoyed my Petsmart manager a few nights ago. He was showing another new associate and me around the store, and he gave us a tour of the back room. He indicated a cart full of bins, and indicated the most important to us, the bin for damaged merchandise. But I both spotted another bin.
“That theft-loss bin,” I said. “How can you put something in it if it’s been stolen? Shouldn’t the item just not be here?”
The other new associate cracked up because she had been thinking the same thing.
The manager looked back and forth between us. This question had taken him off-guard.
“It’s for empty packaging,” he said. “The thief takes the item out of the packaging but leaves the packaging behind.”
“Ohhhh,” said the other associate and I. But we giggled as we left the back room.