One time I forgot to make tea for my boss and didn’t want to admit it. I thought I’d have time to sneak out and get him one, but when my back was turned he picked up the tea I had made for myself.
“Ah thanks, Izzi, you’re a legend,” he said.
My boss likes his tea really strong and with significant amount of sugar. My own preference is for a brew that is half milk, half hot water, with a tea bag vaguely wafted near the cup. At work we use those take-away coffee cups with lids, so you can’t see what’s inside.
And thus my boss picked up and walked away with a cup of what was essentially hot milk. I was too embarrassed to point out this had happened and make light of the situation like any normal person might, so I just let him take it. I was not asked to do the tea-run again for quite some time.
There was the occasion when I decided to withdraw/rescue all my money from a failing savings account. There wasn’t a huge amount in there, but I was getting an interest rate of peanuts – unsalted ones at that – so thought I would move to pastures new.
However, when I went in to draw everything out and close the account, the nice lady behind the desk asked me what I was planning to do with it. Even though she didn’t own the bank or anything, and wasn’t responsible for their rates and charges, I felt mean admitting that I was taking my custom elsewhere.
In a sweaty-palmed panic, I blurted out that I was withdrawing it all to put down a deposit on a house. I was eighteen at the time. And there was barely enough in that account to buy a fancy fridge. Having said that, the bank recently went under, so maybe my savings were worth more than I thought.
During my first week at university, I’d been encouraged to go out the night before a long day of lectures and seminars. As the whole uni thing was still a bit weird and new, and I was slow to come out of my shell, I overdid it a bit with the social lubricant.
The next day during my first seminar I was feeling pretty peaky. I resolved to keep my head down and just get through the lesson, and then I would go and buy as much paracetamol as is legally allowed in one transaction.
All was going to plan, until literally the last 5 minutes of the tutorial. I’d not done anything for the preceding 55 minutes – bar nodding my head and trying to look like I was ‘silently engaging’ – when the tutor asked us all a question.
No one was answering so he decided to give us a clue. “It begins with ‘R’,” he told us. In my fuddled state I shouted out, “Renaissance!” as if it was some game to shout out all the words you know beginning with a certain letter. To this day I cannot remember the question (I don’t think I even knew then), but I do know “Renaissance!” had nothing to do with whatever it was.
I then fell over a chair as I subtly attempted leave the room after one of the longest hours of my life.
Everyone I know calls me Izzi (except my mum when I’m in trouble), but I haven’t gone for the most obvious spelling. I often get ‘Izzy’ or ‘Izzie’, though there has also been the occasional ‘Issy’ and ‘Issie’, once even an ‘Isy’ (the p.e. teacher that hated me at school always insisted on spelling it that way).
I am not in the market for correcting people. In fact, so that others don’t feel bad that they spell it wrong (no one feels bad, Izzi! Get over yourself!), I write my name in all its variations depending on who I’m talking to. So at my old job I signed off all my tasks as ‘Izzie’. At my current place I’m ‘Izzy’. And probably 50% of my Christmas cards went out this year with ‘incorrect’ signage at the bottom.
At work once, a man misheard me and thought I’d said my name was ‘Easy’. Again, too awkward to correct him, but also kind of amused by the fact that he thought my parents named their first child ‘Easy’ (yes, sir, and my middle name is ‘Doesit’), I let it go and was evermore referred to as such. My friends enjoyed that one.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, when life give you lemons, sometimes you just end up squirting the juice in your eye.