If the Postman Insists

With the advent of online shopping, the poor postal service must be absolutely overwhelmed at Christmas. I really like you, post office, I really do. But nobody’s perfect.


My doorbell has two last names. One is very English, let’s say Washington. One is very Chinese, let’s say Wong. Last week, the postman rang the doorbell, and when I answered it he said “Mr. Washington?” and I said, “I can sign. I’m his daughter.” and he said “Are you Wong?” and I said “No. I’m Washington.” So far so good?


Then, the postman says “Well, I get to meet the Wong. Thank you Ms. Wong.” And hands me the little electronic signature thing.


I look Asian. I get it. I’m OK with people not always identifying me visually. But if I tell you my name, have the courtesy to trust that I know what my name is. Even if I look Asian, I could be mixed or adopted or married or in witness protection. To call an instance like this an invalidation of my identity sound like too big of a deal, so I won’t. I’ll just say, let me be the expert on me. It’s OK to misidentify me, or be confused, but when I tell you my name is Washington (or some other traditional English name), it would be polite to call me by that name.


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