My name, without sounding too negative, is stupid. Don’t get me wrong, I love the name Anna (that is “on-uh” not “anne-uh”). “On-uh” is a beautiful name, but it has the bad luck of coming second to its nasally sounding sister, “anne-uh”. For the purpose of clarity “on-uh” will be typed as Anna. And “anne-uh” will be typed as Fran Drescher for the duration of this post.
I don’t think I have ever been called Anna off the bat. I can confidently say this because I think if I were called Anna upon meeting someone for the first time I would marry that person. Be they male of female I would make that person mine. This person would already understand one of the biggest struggles in my life, clearly making our meeting fate. Never being called Anna off the bat is based on those who have seen my name in writing, not actually heard my name. Two assumptions come along with my name on paper. The first is that my name is Fran Drescher and the second is that I’m foreign. Just the look of my name, 4-letter first name, 4 letter last name, screams Norwegian. I’m not sure why, and I don’t care to argue with this, but it is distinctly un-American.
The struggle of having a constantly mispronounced name is a daily one. I have to make a decision of whom I am going to correct on the pronunciation of my name. I never correct deliverymen, professors, and most recently, job interviewers, because our relationship isn’t going to last longer than a few hours. (It is a sad, sad truth. Someone give me a job!) But this is a risk. Who is to say that I am going to meet someone, not correct them, and we wind up becoming good friends? At what point DO I correct them? A week into the friendship? After the toast is given to Fran Drescher and husband at my wedding? These are issues someone with a name like mine must sort through constantly.
There are three levels of the acceptableness for mispronouncing my name. The first, and most acceptable level is the mispronunciation of my name on paper. I get it, it’s confusing having a word spelled the same but pronounced differently. It only happens ALL the time in the English language (I’m going to read a book, I read a book; the monster lives! The monster saved our lives! Come on, people). The second level is being introduced to me verbally only to find yourself unable to suppress the urge to call me Fran Drescher. I also get it; Fran Drescher is a common name. But you don’t hear me calling you Bill when your name is Bob just because I have a friend named Bill. They are different words. The third level, and by far the least acceptable, is correcting me on the pronunciation of my own name.
One time I was picking up a bulk order of sneakers for my basketball team. I told the worker at Dick’s Sporting Goods that the order for 20 shoes was under the name Anna. He went to the back, looked and looked and came back saying he couldn’t find it. I said, shocked, “really? For Anna?” and he responded, as if he had experienced a revelation, “ohhhh, Fran Drescher”. He headed back to the storage room and came back with my 20 pairs of shoes. No. Not Fran Drescher. Anna. The name that I just told you. This happened on another occasion, very recently. I was out at USC with my friend and was introducing myself to a young gent. I said, “Hi, I’m Anna” and he responded just as the Dick’s Sporting Goods employee did, “ohhhh, Fran Drescher”. I’m not sure why the long “ohhh” must come before the correction of my name and it is always coupled with an understanding nod. It makes it seem like I’m not well and that calling myself Anna is equivalent to a side affect of Alzheimer’s. Ala, a grandfather says “the spaceship is taking me to the moon, but it’s monsoon season” and the caregiver responds, “ohhh, the shower”.
It’s hard being an Anna in a Fran Drescher world. It really is.
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