I was recently filling out the paperwork for my new dentist.
Name: Kathryn Thompson
Preferred Name: ???
Hmmm… Not nearly enough people call me K-Dawg. I would prefer it.
So I typed it in and forgot about it. Fast forward a few days and I’m sitting in the lobby in my yoga pants, drinking lemon-infused water and reading a YA novel.
The door cracks open. A dental assistant looks around the lobby, sees me and smiles.
“K-Dawg,” She says sweetly, “We’re ready for you.”
I head back with her and she is all professionalism.
“What brings you to our office, K-Dawg?”
“It’s nice to meet you, K-Dawg.”
“Do you see this picture of your tooth, K-Dawg? That amount of discoloration is normal, K-Dawg.”
The only indication that she’s winking at me on the inside is how frequently she says my name. If my preferred name were, say, Kathryn for example, I doubt she’d feel the need to use it at the end of every sentence.
“You know, you can just call me Kathryn if you like,” I offer.
“Oh no. You said you preferred K-Dawg and I want to respect your wishes.”
This could have come across as snotty but she’s openly grinning at me now and I know that by typing that one little word, I’ve made a friend. I’ve made an office full of friends. Every member of the staff, from the receptionist to the Dentist refer to me only as K-Dawg. Apparently the system is automated so whenever they walk into the room to speak to me, the name K-Dawg appears in bold letters on their screens.
A week after my visit a card came in the mail, thanking me for coming in. I know they send these cards to everyone but I like to think that K-Dawg’s card was a little more personal. K-Dawg’s card was a little more fun.
Because K-Dawg needs mad props, yo. Because K-Dawg has a monopoly on small town phatness.