Anti-Babs

I like my job. I have exceptional co-workers who are generous and kind. My job title is receptionist/office manager and I direct calls for roughly 183 people. I am horrible with names and so, being the large child that I am, decided to invent nicknames to help me remember. A few months ago a guy came up to my desk and asked, "Have you seen so-and-so?"

Deep in the trenches of a project I replied, "Oh yeah Roosevelt's over in the copy room."

"Who is Roosevelt? Is he a new guy?"

Breaks me out of my task induced hypnosis and I look up. Blushing madly, I damn myself for such a slip. No one was supposed to know about the nicknames, I didn't want to offend.
Would you really want to know that your receptionist refers to you (unbeknownst to you of course) as Roosevelt? Not because you're into politics or your past involvement in the Spanish American War but because your hairstyle resembles the young Teddy's Turn of the Century American-doo. It's short on the sides, razor sharp center part, bangs curled and glued to the front of the forehead with like 5 pounds of Bryl Cream to hold it all in place. Now Roosevelt is a sweetheart of a guy and my nickname for him is not malicious, just playful. But there's no way to explain the harmless meaning to the confused co-worker.

I murmur "Sorry, lost in my filing here. So-and-so is in the copy room." and forgot all about it until three days later. The phone rings and I answer it as I usually do, for I AM the receptionist! A male voice says,

"Hey Babsey (not my real name), this is Roosevelt (not his real name either) can you transfer me to XXXXXXX?"

Someone relayed the nickname. I cringe and want to drop into the deepest darkest pit on the planet.

What did he just call me?

Mental hiccups cause me to fumble as I dial the extension. In the blink of an eye I see Babs. She is married to Biff and they're both conservative, undoubtedly Republicans. She drinks white whine spritzers, wears pleated tennis whites, doesn't sweat when she does aerobics in her high heels, has a fake bake and drives a Hummer because she feels the need to display her disposable wealth and lack of concern regarding rising gas prices. Babs has Scary Big Texas Hair and lunches with her girls at the country club where they chatter like magpies and discuss the perfection of their uber riche lifestyle. Babs gets upset when she chips a fingernail.

I've got nubs, will never be wealthy, dispise Hummers, couldn't fit into tennis whites if it killed me, run from men named Biff, am so un-tan that I reflect sunlight and prefer my wine without the spritz please.

The joke is, I am the Anti-Babs and that's all right with me.