So the son and I have established this ritual, where you never use your own name when ordering a drink, or ice cream cone, or anything. You can be Biff, Bob, Chili, Star Child, Moth, The Human Head, Dog … whatever moniker you choose.
But I can’t be Jeff. He can’t be Emmett.
A few moments ago I ordered a coffee and an ice water here at a Newport Beach Starbucks. The barista’s name tag read MELVIN.
He said, “What’s a name for the drink?”
“Mel,” I said.
He smiled. “That’s my name too!”
“Wow,” I replied. “Small world.”
