I mumble.
If you know me, you know this. I have to repeat myself a lot in person, sometimes slowly, sometimes with gestures. If the guy in Costa doesn't quite catch what size I want my coffee I tend to follow it up by saying 'large' once more while holding my hands out flat with one about ten inches above the other. The 'cardboard box' gesture. Try it.
Big fish, small fish, cardb-, there you go. That's my symbol for a large coffee. To go, please.
It's one of the reasons I don't like talking on the phone. A lot of people have difficulty understanding me on the phone. My deep tone and my south Monaghan accent together just don't travel down a phone line well. (Also, on the phone or in conversation in general I have to think of stuff to say on the fly. That's HARD. In a text, in an email or even here I have better control over what I say. This sentence alone was probably rewritten three or four times before you got to read tit.)
So, yes, I mumble.
This is leading to a story. You know it is. I'll try keep it short.
My first eye test of the day was a girl from down in England somewhere. She was nice, polite and almost inhumanly cheery for 9.10 on a Friday morning. I popped my head out of testing room door, addressed her by her name and invited her in got her eye test. I gestured towards the testing chair and told her to "rest yourself there". I know I said those exact words because I tell everyone I test to "rest yourself there". I like that phrase. I feel it puts folk at ease quicker. (Though maybe it doesn't. Maybe nobody understands that either, maybe all they hear is "Reshyurrshelfder" and somehow find the chair on their own.)
I then introduced myself. Again, this tends to go like clockwork. I said, word for word, "My name's Noel, I'm the optician here today" and, before I had a chance to continue, she was straight in with a compliment.
"Noah? That's a nice name!"
I smiled a little. This happens a lot. I've drank many a coffee from a Starbucks cup with "Noah" written on the side.
I smiled, apologised lightheartedly for my thick accent and repeated my name. To hammer it home I told her I was born near Christmas. (I was.)
She smiled and giggled.
"Ohhhh, Nolan? Sorry! Nolan, that's a much nicer name."
I didn't want to correct the poor girl twice. I'd be spending the next fifteen minutes telling her the little N on the bottom left was actually a H and I didn't want to crush her spirit altogether so I let it go. I smiled again and went on with the eye test.
Nolan Finegan, pleased to meet you.
If you know me, you know this. I have to repeat myself a lot in person, sometimes slowly, sometimes with gestures. If the guy in Costa doesn't quite catch what size I want my coffee I tend to follow it up by saying 'large' once more while holding my hands out flat with one about ten inches above the other. The 'cardboard box' gesture. Try it.
Big fish, small fish, cardb-, there you go. That's my symbol for a large coffee. To go, please.
It's one of the reasons I don't like talking on the phone. A lot of people have difficulty understanding me on the phone. My deep tone and my south Monaghan accent together just don't travel down a phone line well. (Also, on the phone or in conversation in general I have to think of stuff to say on the fly. That's HARD. In a text, in an email or even here I have better control over what I say. This sentence alone was probably rewritten three or four times before you got to read tit.)
So, yes, I mumble.
This is leading to a story. You know it is. I'll try keep it short.
My first eye test of the day was a girl from down in England somewhere. She was nice, polite and almost inhumanly cheery for 9.10 on a Friday morning. I popped my head out of testing room door, addressed her by her name and invited her in got her eye test. I gestured towards the testing chair and told her to "rest yourself there". I know I said those exact words because I tell everyone I test to "rest yourself there". I like that phrase. I feel it puts folk at ease quicker. (Though maybe it doesn't. Maybe nobody understands that either, maybe all they hear is "Reshyurrshelfder" and somehow find the chair on their own.)
I then introduced myself. Again, this tends to go like clockwork. I said, word for word, "My name's Noel, I'm the optician here today" and, before I had a chance to continue, she was straight in with a compliment.
"Noah? That's a nice name!"
I smiled a little. This happens a lot. I've drank many a coffee from a Starbucks cup with "Noah" written on the side.
I smiled, apologised lightheartedly for my thick accent and repeated my name. To hammer it home I told her I was born near Christmas. (I was.)
She smiled and giggled.
"Ohhhh, Nolan? Sorry! Nolan, that's a much nicer name."
I didn't want to correct the poor girl twice. I'd be spending the next fifteen minutes telling her the little N on the bottom left was actually a H and I didn't want to crush her spirit altogether so I let it go. I smiled again and went on with the eye test.
Nolan Finegan, pleased to meet you.
Nolan's better than Noelle, I guess. Not that I'd actually correct someone who gets Noelle & Noel mixed up. I prefer to just go ahead and book their post op in with the Noel they asked for.
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