“Your Name’s Mike? Sweet.”

I’m at a Verizon store to fix my broken phone. It’s one of those stores where you enter your name at a kiosk and wait in line. They ask you for your name and first initial, which is no fun. Instead of differentiating between two Mikes with our the first letter of our last name, they should let us fight. Give everyone else in line a real show.

Anyway I’m in line. Some Verizon guy comes up to me. He reads the names off the big board and looks at me. 

“Your name’s Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet.”

Then he just walked away, offering no further explanation.

Was his name Mike? That would have made a little sense. He winks and shows me back to an express lane in a special room where they help Mikes only. “We Mikes take care of our own. Feel free to grab a novelty license plate if you want. The only ones we have left are Craigs. Ran out of Mikes.”

What exactly was sweet about it? Was he just desperate to make a connection.? “Most common American boy’s name eh? Sweet. Nothing sweeter than conformity bro. I like it so much I’m going to change my name to Mike. Please buy a second iPhone, I desperately need commissions. I’ve changed my name five times this month alone.”

The best part was he didn’t even help me. Would he have done something for me if I had a different name? Was his “Sweet” proclamation a way of placating me while he searched for someone with a more unique moniker. “You’re Mike? Sweet, sweet…now if you’ll excuse me, Chauncey who clearly walked in after you needs a new charger. Good day.”

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