I’m spacing out, staring at the wall waiting to pay my stage when something jumps out at me.
“is that real? Is that a typo?”
“is there really a girl going by —–? Like that’s not a typo?”
“—–?” another girl echoes, and comes over to look.
“No, it’s real,” someone says authoritatively. “she does mids mostly?”
I’m caught on someone naming themselves —–. I understand the desire to affiliate with luxury items, at various times I’ve felt (but not acted on) the impulse to call myself both Balenciaga and more recently Lamborghini. But, “That’s not like… Lexus or Porsche or Mercedes, that’s like, Auto.”
“It’s weird right?” another girl adds. “Plus, i was like, you might as well name yourself Genocide.”
Silence while the rest of us try to figure this one out.
Then it clicks. “oh no! That’s —–, she’s spelling this ‘—–‘. but yeah —–, maybe not a great name.”
“I worked with a Jezebel.”
“Climax. With an x x x.”
The list of questionable names is endless. We run through some more before deciding,
“—– isn’t the worst name.”
“No, definitely not.”
1-There’s a new model that looks like the Bat Mobile that makes my heart hurt with the need to drive it.