>Nameless in Santiago

>On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go teach a private class up near metro Vespucio Norte. Let me tell you, if you think it’s cold down here in Providencia/El Centro/Ñuñoa, it’s WAY colder up there.

But I digress.

At the business I go to, there’s a security guard at the door. I don’t quite understand their schedule, but there is a different one when I go in and a different one when I come out. Also, the one when I go in tends to rotate as well. Because of this, I always have to give my name and explain where I’m going in case they think I’m going to run off with all the silverware instead of just (trying) to teach English. (The company rents out dishes to restaurants).

This morning, however, I recognized the security guard on my way in. He was the one I have seen the most often, so I assumed he would recognize me. I waltzed, in, said “Hola, buenos días!” and continued on my way. About halfway to the door to the building, I hear “Señorita! Señorita! Tiene usted un nombre?” (“Miss! Miss! Do you have a name?”)

Do I have a name? Ha. I felt like telling him, “You know what, I don’t have a name! My parents forgot that very important step 23 years ago when I was born and I’ve been going through life nameless until now. But now that you mention it, I’ll be sure to get one!”

But instead, I just spelled out Ab-eee-gah-eel (no, tiene b larga, no v corta!) and my last name (no, no se pronuncia ahjjj) and I was on my way.


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