Thursday, 31 July 2008

• My Initials = Epic Fail

  It wasn't until the 8th grade that I found out my initials are STD. That was also the same year my class was forced to watch a horrific video on the subject, which scared us all out of wanting sex. So when I found out my initials were the polar opposite of sexual attraction, I was a bit disheartened.

  A friend of mine pointed this fact out to me while I was putting my trombone together at the beginning of band class. I stood there and did the math over and over again in my head, which only reiterated the fact that I did indeed have very undesirable initials.

  So there I was: 100 pounds, trombone in hand, and STD. At that point I figured I might as well give myself an atomic wedgie and voluntarily hand over my lunch money to the nearest punk.

  When I graduated high school, that's when my initials really exploded onto the scene. You see, when you're older, there's more paperwork to be filled out, forms that validate various and sundry things. Forms mean initials.

  Most of the time I got away with a simple SD. But there were always the occasions in which I had to show my full-blown STD. One of the more memorable of these occasions is the time I went in for a drug test so that I could gain a respectable job selling anime porn and 2 Live Crew CDs at a music store in the mall.

  When I came out with my fresh cup o' piss, the nurse politely asked me to initial the label on the cup.

  "All of them?" I asked.

  "All of what?"

  "All of my initials?"

  "Yes..."

  "I don't like my initials," I said with a nervous laugh.

  "Why? What are they?"

  "STD."

  "Oh my!" she said, stifling a laugh.

  I looked to my left to find another nurse standing with her back to me, her shoulders shaking violently from laughter.

  "That's a cruel joke your parents played on you!" she said, her neck rolls finally settling.

  She was irritating me, and it's never a good idea to irritate me when I have a cup of steaming urine in my hand.

  It's bad enough having to write my initials on a form, but it doesn't even compare to the embarrassment of writing STD on a cup of fluid that came from my body.

  When I confronted my mom about why she couldn't have named me something else, she simply said, "Well we didn't really think about it at the time, hon. Sam was your grandpa's name, sweetie, you should be proud."

  I assured her that Grandpa was most likely laughing his ass off from whatever cloud God designated him.
  

  I'm thinking about going to court and having my name legally changed so that I can finally put an end to this disconcerting matter. I've narrowed it down to two choices: Andrew Sexton Smithers or Fred Unther Kenson.

  They both have a nice ring to them, don't they?

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