It's Pronounced "Michelle" Not "Michael"
They have a new system for waiting to use some of the machines in the gym. It involves handing over your school ID card to a nice but somewhat naïve employee. They call out your name when there is a space available on the machine you desire. I knew the system would cause problems for me the minute I heard about it. But today I attempted to comply anyway.
Everything started off normal. I entered the gym, handed off my ID, then meandered my way over to a nice wait-free bike. Over time, a number of names were called. So many, in fact, I KNEW it would be my turn soon. My turn to enjoy the fast calorie burning ellipticals.
When the nice but naïve employee began calling out Michael, I had a sneaking suspicion it was my ID card in his hand. He began searching the room, trying to match a sweaty, red face with the picture on the ID. I waited, wondering if he would make the connection. Surely anyone can tell by the lovely but short brownie-colored hair, bright shiny blue eyes, and white, strait, toothed smile of my picture that I am a girl.
As he walked near me, I hoped that his mind would click. That the matching game we all played in preschool would prove relevant to this exercise in identification. After all, even though my hair is longer now, it was still tied back for exercise and parted in a way similar to that of the picture. Would he realize his mistake and learn that ‘Michele’ is in fact ‘Michelle’ sans one ‘l’? Alas, no.
That one ‘l’ must make all the difference in the world. The nice but naïve employee’s mind did not make the connection. So I allowed him to wander around the room searching for a boy named Michael while I biked and watched him look slightly idiotic.
Then I pounced. Right before he picked up a new ID card imprinted with another name and picture, I left my bike. I approached nice, but naïve employee. I asked politely, “Did you mean ‘Michele’ (pronounced Michelle)?” He replied “Yes, of course.” So, I took back my ID and then took my rightful place at an elliptical machine.
I would like to take a moment and say that the waiting system involving numbers was by far a superior method. The ID system sucks. I’d also like to take a moment to thank my mother, as I have done hundreds of times before, for having the foresight to think ‘Michelle’ with the second ‘l’ was “just too long” and to instead bestow upon me the nice ambiguously gendered name ‘Michele' instead. Thanks Mom!
P.S. Don’t even get me started on how my mother thought my middle name was too long because of yet anther extra ‘l’ as well. Does she have something against the letter ‘l’? I’m beginning to think so.
Everything started off normal. I entered the gym, handed off my ID, then meandered my way over to a nice wait-free bike. Over time, a number of names were called. So many, in fact, I KNEW it would be my turn soon. My turn to enjoy the fast calorie burning ellipticals.
When the nice but naïve employee began calling out Michael, I had a sneaking suspicion it was my ID card in his hand. He began searching the room, trying to match a sweaty, red face with the picture on the ID. I waited, wondering if he would make the connection. Surely anyone can tell by the lovely but short brownie-colored hair, bright shiny blue eyes, and white, strait, toothed smile of my picture that I am a girl.
As he walked near me, I hoped that his mind would click. That the matching game we all played in preschool would prove relevant to this exercise in identification. After all, even though my hair is longer now, it was still tied back for exercise and parted in a way similar to that of the picture. Would he realize his mistake and learn that ‘Michele’ is in fact ‘Michelle’ sans one ‘l’? Alas, no.
That one ‘l’ must make all the difference in the world. The nice but naïve employee’s mind did not make the connection. So I allowed him to wander around the room searching for a boy named Michael while I biked and watched him look slightly idiotic.
Then I pounced. Right before he picked up a new ID card imprinted with another name and picture, I left my bike. I approached nice, but naïve employee. I asked politely, “Did you mean ‘Michele’ (pronounced Michelle)?” He replied “Yes, of course.” So, I took back my ID and then took my rightful place at an elliptical machine.
I would like to take a moment and say that the waiting system involving numbers was by far a superior method. The ID system sucks. I’d also like to take a moment to thank my mother, as I have done hundreds of times before, for having the foresight to think ‘Michelle’ with the second ‘l’ was “just too long” and to instead bestow upon me the nice ambiguously gendered name ‘Michele' instead. Thanks Mom!
P.S. Don’t even get me started on how my mother thought my middle name was too long because of yet anther extra ‘l’ as well. Does she have something against the letter ‘l’? I’m beginning to think so.
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