You know those spy thrillers where gorgeous dangerous people pull handfuls of passports out of an obscure bank deposit box in Europe? They have loads of aliases: people from different countries with different names and birthdays. Sydney Bristol. Jason Borne.
It shows you how powerful they are (or how much powerful help they’ve had) because names are important. Our names connect us to taxes, bank accounts, medical insurance, speeding tickets, credit scores, degrees, citizenship, and families. A person who has legal documentation for separate names has different identities according to the state.
As far as I can tell, this is what’s in a name:
Close my bank account and open a new one. Switch direct deposit from work and withdrawal from loans. Get new cards and checks. Change my name at the SS office (pay money). Go to the Department of Licensing. Stand in line. Provide proof of change in residency from Colorado to Washington. Pay Money. Apply for a new passport. Pay money. Wait. Change the title, insurance, and plates on my car. Get used to hearing "Carvers".
And I was hoping to avoid all this. I had thought that maybe Amy Brown would have done something great enough that the world could not spare her. That those names wouldn't disappear so easily.
Showing posts with label married life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label married life. Show all posts
8.14.2010
Spent $800
Being a mattress salesman would be weird. Couples come into your store, er, warehouse looking for a place to sleep, have sex, or widdle away their insomnia.
Mitch and I bought a mattress. Our salesman, Mick, was in his sixties and had bad teeth and lots of hair. Mitch told him we wanted a queen and he said it looked like Mitch already had a queen, meaning me. I didn’t tell him that “Queen” is a term for a flamboyant or bitchy gay man, and that I hoped Mitch did not, in fact, have one.
I spent the rest of the shopping time lying on different beds. Trying them out on my side, on my back, “Oh! a stomach sleeper." He stood over us and talked away. He told us about how great marriage was. “My wife turned me into a good man. I mean, I was a pretty great guy before, but it’s because of her that I’m a good man.” And he plunked down next to us on one mattress to show the lack of over-all bounciness.
“Honey (that’s me apparently), make sure you try out your side of the bed.” If you’d like to know, Mitch and I don’t have sides of the bed. We’re a modern couple. But I thought, really Mick? Of course! People don’t come to a mattress store looking for a mattress. They’re looking for a side of the mattress. It’s quite convenient buying a mattress with another person. Kind of wasteful buying a bed with two sides for just one person. This must be the reason people get married.
I vow to join my side of the mattress to your side of the mattress. We will split the cost of box springs.
We bought a mattress, “Vera Wang for Serta.” I’m not sure how much designing Vera had to do for it. It’s rectangular, padded, white. Not at all what I expect from high fashion.
The most expensive mattresses had rhinestones all over them.
We wanted to pay over a year same as cash, but Wells Fargo denied our application for a card. Right there in front of Mick. (“It’s ok, honey.”) Mitch was also saying “lovely” a lot, like a younger Jerry Sitser.
It is ok, honey. Nothing really mattress.
Mitch and I bought a mattress. Our salesman, Mick, was in his sixties and had bad teeth and lots of hair. Mitch told him we wanted a queen and he said it looked like Mitch already had a queen, meaning me. I didn’t tell him that “Queen” is a term for a flamboyant or bitchy gay man, and that I hoped Mitch did not, in fact, have one.
I spent the rest of the shopping time lying on different beds. Trying them out on my side, on my back, “Oh! a stomach sleeper." He stood over us and talked away. He told us about how great marriage was. “My wife turned me into a good man. I mean, I was a pretty great guy before, but it’s because of her that I’m a good man.” And he plunked down next to us on one mattress to show the lack of over-all bounciness.
“Honey (that’s me apparently), make sure you try out your side of the bed.” If you’d like to know, Mitch and I don’t have sides of the bed. We’re a modern couple. But I thought, really Mick? Of course! People don’t come to a mattress store looking for a mattress. They’re looking for a side of the mattress. It’s quite convenient buying a mattress with another person. Kind of wasteful buying a bed with two sides for just one person. This must be the reason people get married.
I vow to join my side of the mattress to your side of the mattress. We will split the cost of box springs.
We bought a mattress, “Vera Wang for Serta.” I’m not sure how much designing Vera had to do for it. It’s rectangular, padded, white. Not at all what I expect from high fashion.
The most expensive mattresses had rhinestones all over them.
We wanted to pay over a year same as cash, but Wells Fargo denied our application for a card. Right there in front of Mick. (“It’s ok, honey.”) Mitch was also saying “lovely” a lot, like a younger Jerry Sitser.
It is ok, honey. Nothing really mattress.
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