Nosebleed

In the Philippines, where I grew up and am currently based, my name is very ordinary. What I mean is, there are a lot of David Garcias  to be found across the islands, from the provinces way up north to down south.

No wonder there are two of us with the same name at the office. Two David Garcias. One whose full name is David Arthur Garcia, and one who simply goes by David Garcia (me).

Ordinarily, that situation shouldn’t be pose much of a problem, but the thing is, we also happen to have support staff that aren’t among the brightest bulbs in the room.

Take one of the secretaries for example. She’s the one who’s always very quick to answer the phone whenever it rang (possibly hoping it was a call from her boyfriend? Who knows…) and so it was that she gave a nosebleed to one of our clients.

From where I was seated, I could hear her end of the conversation as she talked to the client over the phone:

“Which David Garcia do you want to talk to, sir? Is it the David Garcia with the moustache or the one without?”

Problem: I used to have a moustache before. I’ve shaved very recently but some clients, specially the newest ones, only  know me as having a bare upper lip. The other David Garcia who used to be clean shaven before, now sports a moustache. So, it’s hard to let clients identify us that way over the phone, if we don’t know yet if they’re new or old clients. I motion to the secretary about this and she obviously does not understand, but nods anyway just to get me to stop making wild motions with my arms that clearly distracted her.

“Oh, you haven’t seen Mr. David Garcia yet? But how… oh, I see! You’ve only talked to him over the phone! Well, then, sir, was that Mr. David Garcia the David Garcia who is the Executive Assistant of Mr. Peterson, or the David Garcia who is not the Executive Assistant of Mr. Peterson?

At this point, I stand and make my way towards the addled woman but she purposively turns her back to me just when I make a move to get the phone receiver to talk to the client myself.  She also tries to wave me away like a pesky fly. I stand there, feeling stupid, too surprised to say or do anything further.

She continues trying to find out which David Garcia the client wants.

“Is it David…”

“Arthur! Ask if it’s Arthur he needs!” I hiss like a belligerent snake.

“Arthur?” She stares at me as if I were insane and whispers agitatedly in return, “He is not asking for an Arthur! He is looking for a Mr. David Garcia!”

“David Arthur Garcia! Him!” I point to my namesake who by then was already  bent over and had tears in his eyes from trying hard to control his laughter. “David Garcia no Arthur! Me!” I point to myself, showing her my incisors.

She smiles widely, signaling to me that she finally gets it, this secretary who is trying to be efficient. Or so I thought.

“Arthur David Garcia, sir? Is that whom you want to talk to?”

Everybody within earshot  who had been following what was happening broke apart into giggles and loud laughter.

Finally, the client manages to get himself connected to the David Garcia he had been looking for.

It wasn’t me, after all.

Sigh. Another day in paradise.

____

I am David Garcia and right now I am unusually thinking of: what it would feel like to strangle the necks of scrawny chickens.