Don Quixote “He tilted at windmills; for they might be Giants.” Musical Band “They Might Be Giants”
OK, OK! If you’re still reading this, you have stuck out more than a few stories this year in the A-Z Blog Challenge. What is also true, is that you have “endured” more than one story of my “self-given” naming adventures; so I’m asking you to read ONE more. What the hell.
As I had to explain to my sister (I’d call her Sister Delta, but I’m already overdrawn at the name bank), I love my given birth name and often introduce myself with passion and pride, but it’s just so much fun to mock the “unwritten rules of society,” and venture down a harmless path that makes society look up and pause. That’s not to say it always goes so smooth!
So there I was one night, on the internet. I had decided that I would break down and legitimately fill out a form with all the true answers (See Letter L). I was registering for an airline frequent flier mileage program. It seemed simple enough. Ah…….., yea; I didn’t make it through the first box. “Title,” it said; Mr., Mrs. Dr., etc. (see Mrs. P; I was paying attention). I got to thinking (“Oh boy Zulu; I don’t feel good!”). Mr is too old. Doctor? I am in the D.W.D program; “Doctors Without Degrees.” Yes, it’s an invisible and completely fictitious organization I fabricated (surprised?), but in reality, I would never use that title to misrepresent myself where even the slightest possibility exists I could be called on to render medical assistance. Being trained in First Aid is my limit, and sometimes, even a wise-cracking, authority taunting, fictitious blogger knows the boundaries of respect and good taste; sometimes.
“Reverend/Pastor” was not appealing. Then it hit me; How about Sir? “Eureka!” YES!!! In the start box, they asked “First Name,” I typed in “Sir Dennis,” which when combined with my last name, made me Sir Dennis Downes. OH….how Gallant is that? Why should I sit around life waiting for man-made royalty to bestow their grace on me? God already did that.
So…..our Intrepid Hero slogged his way through the rest of the application and didn’t think much of it. It was just a foolish form and didn’t really mean anything.
Several months after I registered for the program, I switched “hats” and titles and became the Echo Lima; Expedition Leader. https://zuludelta45.net/2016/04/06/echo-lima-e-l-expedition-leader/ I booked a large ski trip for friends and family. I filled out more forms; truthfully and properly. I entered all the correct names and birth dates. I am well aware that the TSA has no sense of humor and does not tolerate misspelled words, names, and addresses. So far, so good.
Three months later, it was time to leave for our trip. Travel note; there is nothing greater than using the Sky Cap and completing all transactions on the front sidewalk at the airport; especially if it means not schlepping all you’re ski gear through the terminal. Being efficient, I printed out all the boarding passes for the group the night before. Everything was going well when we rolled up to the Sky Cap until I suddenly looked closely down at my boarding pass. it said, Sir Dennis Downes. “Holy Shiite!!!” A million things went through my mind; they won’t let me on the plane, I’m not going skiing, I screwed up everything for the group including all the other details and horror-show scenarios that waited there ready to hang me.
What happened was; when I booked the trip and bought the ticket, the airline failed to transfer all the proper personal information I submitted to them at the time of purchase, and instead inserted all the personal information I casually submitted 6 months earlier on my frequent flier application including Sir Dennis. Whoops.
A lesser Expedition Leader (translation; one who had the common sense not to make up crap on an official form in the first place), not to mention a “non-delusional, self-appointed knight,” would have broken at this moment; but not me, not yet. I stood up straight, I stepped forward, smiled at the Sky Cap, and as I handed him my paperwork, said “Good Morning” in my most confident tone.
For what seemed an eternity, the attendant passed through my paperwork. He began to return my boarding pass and ticket, and as I was about to exhale, he stopped, looked up, and said in a shockingly incredulous voice “Sir Dennis? You’re a Knight?”
In what I could only describe as a cross between “Fortune Favoring The Foolish.” and Divine Intervention, a Second Sky Cap appeared out of nowhere, and loudly proclaimed “You’re a Knight? That is so cool!” He literary grabbed the paperwork out of the hands of the first Sky Cap, handed it to me, grabbed all my gear, and took off to place my luggage and skis on the conveyor belt. With an ice-cold stare and still outstretched hand bearing down on me from the first Sky Cap, I was overtaken by wisdom. I didn’t say one word. I just shrugged my shoulders, casually smiled again, turned and walked away. No voices called me back, and I certainly didn’t turn around or stop walking.
Nobility has its privileges!