East Coast Ron, West Coast Ron

The Curious Case of My Disappearing Name

My full name is Ronald Lee Randle.  Only two people have consistently called me Ronald.  My mother and my sister.  Everyone else started with Ronnie when I was young, and somewhere after college that gradually became Ron.  Clean.  Efficient.  One syllable.  Hard to get wrong, or so I thought.

For roughly sixty years I had no trouble saying my name.  Apparently the last two years have changed that.

Liessa is my witness because she has heard this happen more times than I can count.  When we are home in Murrieta and someone asks for the name on an order, I say what I have said for most of my adult life.  Ron.  The employee looks at the screen and says, “Juan?”  I say, “No, Ron.”  They say, “Oh.  One?”  At that point I am tempted to simply accept whichever identity the drive through has assigned me for the evening.

But something interesting happened today.

Liessa and I on the East Coast visiting our son and his family.  The person behind the counter asked, “Name for the order, sir?”  I said, “Ron.”  Without hesitation she typed it and called out, “Ron.”  Perfect.

I immediately looked at Liessa and said, “Did you hear that?”  She said she did.  I asked her why they could get it right here but not where we live.  We talked about it for a few minutes and finally I said, “This is worth a reflection.”

Because at this point it had moved beyond inconvenience.  It had become a mystery.

For sixty years I was Ronald, then Ronnie, then Ron.  Now depending on which coast I stand on I am apparently Juan, Run, One, or occasionally still Ron.  Naturally I decided to do what any reasonable person would do and conduct a small investigation.

There is, it turns out, a perfectly rational explanation.  People who study how humans hear language say that the beginning sound of Ron is actually fairly soft.  In a noisy environment the R can disappear and what remains sounds like “on.”  The brain does not like unfinished sounds, so it fills in the missing piece with whatever seems most likely.  In Southern California that often becomes Juan.  On the East Coast it sometimes becomes Run.

All of which sounds very impressive.

And yet I remain skeptical.  Because if the explanation were truly that simple, Liessa would not hear Ron while the employee hears Juan or Run or One.  So while I appreciate the scientific explanation, I cannot completely rule out another possibility.  It may be that somewhere above us there is a small group of aliens conducting a long term study on human identity, and apparently I have been selected as one of the subjects.  Their assignment is fairly simple.  Every time I clearly say the word Ron, they adjust the signal slightly before it reaches the person taking the order.  Not enough to alarm anyone.  Just enough to create confusion.  Different satellites.  Different alien teams.

But the story did not end there.

Just before we stopped at Shake Shack in Union on Route 22, we made another stop to pick up an order at a men’s clothing store.  The salesperson was friendly and helpful.  When she came to the counter she asked, “The name on the order, sir?”

“Ron Randle,” I replied.  The last name is spelled like “handle” but with an R.”  

She looked at the screen and said, “Okay, I see it Randle.  Here’s your order.”

I smiled and said, “No, Ronald Randle.”

She nodded politely and left us to retrieve the package in the back.  However, for the rest of the transaction she called me Randle not once but three more times!

Full disclosure now.  The problem it appears may not be limited to my first name.  It might be my last name too.  Ronald Randle carries a rhythm that almost echoes itself, and over the years people have occasionally switched the names entirely and called me Randle Ronald.  A couple of customers years ago would call me Randy.  I’ve even made the mistake of signing my name, on one occasion,  Ronald Ronald.  I’m confused too.

I suspect the situation might be larger than I originally thought.  It may not be that people cannot hear my name.  It may be that my entire identity is slowly being reorganized.

At this point on, I have decided to stop resisting the process.  When someone asks for my name, I will say Ron.  And when they call me something close to that, I simply listen carefully.  Because whoever they call, there is a very good chance it might still be me.