what's in a name?

when you place your drink order, and the barista asks for your name so s/he can write it on your to-go cup, s/he has a very clear practical objective in mind: to easily distinguish your drink from someone else's. (calling all rocket scientists!) but don't be fooled: there's some sleight of hand at play here. indeed, this is manipulation at its simplest, at its best. Bill Shakes, via a star-crossed lover, once asked: what's in a name? well, i'll tell ya: your entire identity! the whole of your ego(mania). wrapped up -- quickly, succinctly -- in a single word. a single, glorious word. surely, your most favourite of all words out there, in fact. so, when the barista calls that name (grande no-whip hocho for T!) and then has the gall to use it beyond the cup (have a great day, T!) -- with a sincere smile to boot, as though s/he really knows you, as if s/he really cares -- there's a sudden zing of wow-i-feel-awfully-special that charges through your core, zips jaw-to-temples up both sides of your face, and culminates in an electric fiesta on top of your head (¡arriba!), right above the spot that was dangerously soft when you were a newborn.

thing is, you can't quite be sure that, before uttering the magic word, s/he'd actually said have a great day. it mighta been: geez, your hair's pretty grey, or gawd, you look rough today. you've been had by the zing-zip-fiesta! that's what's in a name. and it's how you know that -- even though you're the one forking up the change -- you're also actually at the fragile mercy of the one who's collecting it. the cup's to go, but you're coming back.

and now back to translating…